How To Rescue A Rake (Book Club Belles Society 3)

by Jayne Fresina

  “Well, my dear brother, you must continue as you think best. Consider how your carefree, indiscriminate flirting has worked for you up until now.”

  Nathaniel deepened his frown. Indiscriminate flirting? He’d always been polite to ladies, had grown up under his father’s tutelage when it came to dealing with women. The major, admittedly, often got himself into trouble by being a little too bawdy, but he had taught his son the importance of flattering the ladies and making them laugh.

  “No woman can be cross with you for long, if you know how to handle ’em,” he would say. “Just like a child can’t keep weeping and whining with a mouthful of sweet, sticky toffee.”

  So Nathaniel’s first instinct was always to befriend a lady, to listen and nod, and then—when the moment was right—to sweeten her up, tease her, and make her blush. The ladies might not always approve of him, but they never forgot “Sherry,” and they couldn’t ignore him.

  Major Sherringham loved to hear stories of Nathaniel’s conquests. They would sit together after dinner, sharing a laugh and deepening their bond over brandy and a mutual appreciation of the fairer sex. Once the major’s health forced him to retire and kept him mostly confined to his house, he lived vicariously through his son’s lusty adventures.

  Nathaniel didn’t have the heart to tell the old man that a few of those adventures were pure fiction. Or at least exaggerated for effect. His seductions and conquests, true or embellished, were things for which he’d earned his father’s admiration and as such were well worth the effort.

  All this considered, Nathaniel couldn’t see what was wrong with his methods when it came to the “handling” of females.

  Rebecca leaned closer, lowering her voice to a scant whisper. “It may be amusing to surround oneself with bunches of pretty flowers—the more the merrier when they are easily tended and inexpensively acquired. But every gardener knows that the most beautiful bloom is often the rarest, the most difficult to nurture, and yet the most gratifying to possess.”

  “Now you have truly lost me, Sister,” he murmured. “I know nothing about gardening.”

  “You are being deliberately obtuse. I shall converse with you on this subject no longer.”

  Thus he learned nothing about the whys and wherefores of Diana’s broken engagement. Sarah Wainwright had described the event as “tragic,” but with the usual dramatic tone any girl of eighteen might use. Something, however, had definitely taken its toll on Diana. She was wilted, her colors washed out, her flame extinguished.

  But it could be nothing to do with him. For once no one could lay the blame for a lady’s problems at his feet.

  His sister got up and moved away, giving up for now. It always made him smile that she—his little sister—tried to advise him. Since their mother died when they were young, Rebecca had taken charge of things and tried to manage both Nathaniel and their father. She had set herself an uphill task, but was never daunted by it. He had to admire that gumption, however annoying it was to suffer her lectures from time to time.

  He noticed Sarah stirring people up again to dance, but one look at Diana on the other side of the room suggested she was in no fit state to play all night long. Dark shadows were visible under her eyes, and her hand shook as she sipped her wine.

  She had steadily played her way through one book of dances already and was clearly not in the best of health. The woman should probably be home in bed, wrapped up warmly and fed soup. Even if she protested. He knew how stubborn she was.

  Not that it was any concern of his. Because she was nothing to him now, of course.

  * * *

  She had not seen him drink a single glass of wine all evening, but he was still talkative and charming with the ladies in the room. That much had not changed.

  From the corner of her eye, Diana watched him entertaining the others, quite at his ease despite the long absence. Nathaniel was the sort who could immediately find interesting conversation with anyone, even a complete stranger. She begrudgingly envied the fool that skill and the freedom to use it, for she had been raised to hold her tongue and speak only when spoken to. And when she did speak, she was taught that she must say the right thing in the proper way. As a consequence it was often easier for her to say nothing at all rather than to risk chastisement.

  Nathaniel, however, said whatever he wished to say. In the past, his ebullient nature had forced her to speak even when she should have remained silent. She knew that was part of what made him dangerous, as far as her mother was concerned. He made Diana want to say things she ought not to. His spirit was infectious.

  The balance of the world was unfairly tipped to the benefit of men, she thought with a burst of sharp anger. They could come and go when they pleased, say and do much as they wanted without reproach. She, for instance, had broken off an engagement in the most polite and kindest way possible with a man who clearly did not care much for her anyway and who became engaged to another much younger and richer woman within a fortnight. Yet Diana had been the target of gossip; she was the one who was punished. Her behavior was tut-tutted over, not his. Apparently William Shaw was merely doing what came naturally to the male animal.

  Speaking of which…oh Lord…Nathaniel was advancing toward her. “Prowling toward her” might be a more accurate description for this particular animal.

  Her heart thumped, obscuring all other sound in the room.

  Once again, escaping from the corked bottle in which she kept it, the memory of his forbidden kiss seized her in its heated grip. As her lips touched the rim of her wineglass, she felt his flesh instead of cut crystal. The savage desire in his kiss haunted her. Why had she not prevented it? He’d kissed her after she rejected his proposal, when she could not possibly have expected it. His audacity had left her frozen in astonishment. So much so that she was unable to sleep that night after it happened. Instead she’d lain awake, reliving his proposal and fighting strange sensations of which her mama would never approve.

  The next morning her friends came to tell her that Nathaniel was gone without even saying good-bye. That kiss was all he left behind, and Diana had resigned herself to never having another like it.

  Nor did she want one, thank you very much.

  Now he came here again to torment her and reopen that dangerous memory. Did he remember the stolen kiss, or was it just another mistake regretted the next morning?

  On his course across the room Nathaniel was halted a few times by ladies eager to converse with him. As always he charmed and joked. The ladies ate it up. It was thoroughly ridiculous, really. An embarrassment to womanhood.

  His progress had begun again and he was looking at her. Diana looked around for somewhere to go, away from his trajectory. She should have found an escape by now since it was taking him long enough to arrive before her, but her legs refused to take her away.

  He stopped again to whisper something to his brother-in-law, and then Lucius Wainwright nodded and left the room.

  The troublesome rogue male had not taken his eyes off her and continued to advance toward her.

  Perhaps he intended to pour himself some wine. She finally moved away from the decanter of Madeira, but he did not reach for a glass. He stopped and it was plain that he meant to speak to her.

  The scoundrel seemed taller than she remembered. Was it the new clothes that gave him such a powerful aura this evening? The high collar of his dark burgundy evening jacket, the ruffled, cream silk cravat, the waistcoat patterned with lines of vertical gold thread, the perfectly fitted breeches that showed off the fine musculature of his thighs? He’d always been handsome in his uniform, but this was new and different. It didn’t shout for attention, but instead gave him an air of quiet confidence and authority.

  Superficial change, of course, as her mother said.

  “Miss Makepiece,” he murmured, “I have taken the liberty of asking my brother-in-law if the carriage might
be brought around for you and your mother.”

  She squinted, not really wanting to take all of him in. This close. “Oh. Yes?”

  “You’ve been here quite long enough, I think.”

  He was getting rid of her, pushing her out the door, the sight of her heinous to him now. All the blood seemed to have drained out of her. All the life.

  “How nice of you to see me off, Captain.” Unlike three years ago, she thought angrily, when he didn’t even say good-bye. Just because she had told him a few unvarnished truths he didn’t care to hear.

  “My sister tells me you walked here in the rain and that you are only recently recovered from a bad cold.”

  “That must have been a very dull conversation for you.”

  “I was told I should stick to your health and the weather.” He gave her an odd, brief smile. “So I thought I did rather well by combining the two subjects.”

  “I appreciate the thought, Captain.” She hoped he had not seen her hand trembling, but as she tried to set the glass down, he reached to take it. The tips of his fingers touched hers and wine spilled on the sideboard.

  “Sarah was about to ask you to play again, and I saw you were not up to it,” he said.

  Diana stared at his long fingers touching hers, the skin several rich shades darker than her own. She couldn’t breathe. Once when she was very young, a lightning bolt had struck the ground not far from where she stood. It had made her entire body sing and the little downy hairs on her arm lift. Nathaniel’s touch had an identical effect.

  “But I knew you could not say no,” he added. “Not to her, in any case.”

  Looking up, she was caught in the blue flames of his regard as they tore into her briefly and then his eyelids lowered. Just in time, because Diana’s mother was upon them in the next moment.

  Nathaniel bowed sharply and walked away.

  “What did he want?” her mother demanded.

  Diana took a breath at last, life returning to fill her lungs. “He has asked for Mr. Lucius Wainwright’s carriage to take us home. He must have seen that I was tired, I suppose.” She still felt that purring hum vibrating through her bones. It made everything in the room seem brighter and louder. Herself included.

  “You have not had anything to eat. Your health will not improve if you don’t eat, Diana. There is plenty of—”

  “Mama, I have no appetite. Please don’t fuss! For pity’s sake, I don’t want anything to eat.”

  Her mother’s eyes sharpened. “There is no need to raise your voice, Diana.”

  Contrite, she closed her lips tightly.

  “It is just as well we are leaving,” her mother remarked with a sniff. “You must be overtired. I knew we shouldn’t have come, and against my better judgment, I let you persuade me.”

  Diana wanted to laugh. As if she had ever wielded the force of persuasion. She wouldn’t know how to begin.

  On the journey home, she stared through the carriage window, her head spinning, her heart beating like an overwound clock that would soon burst a spring and send cogwheels flying all over.

  He had touched her fingers and looked at her with those stormy eyes full of…what? Anger? Scorn? Nathaniel seemed altered in some ways. Older, calmer, sterner. She almost caught herself wishing he had not changed so much, for the changes confused her. She knew how to manage the merry, carefree Nathaniel of years past, but this one presented challenges.

  Exhausted by the many different pains he’d caused simply by saying a few words to her, Diana was relieved to be leaving his irritating presence. She pressed her aching head back against the swaying wall of the carriage, hoping this dizziness would soon pass.

  “So this is the Wainwrights’ new carriage,” her mother muttered, running a gloved hand over the well-padded leather seat. “Astonishing what some folk will waste their money on. But then the Wainwrights have no need to budget.”

  Diana sighed. “Doesn’t it make you wonder, Mama, why God lets some folk become so rich while the majority of us are poor?”

  Her mother’s answer was a pert: “It’s not the money one has that is important, Diana, but what one does with it. How one acts when in possession of wealth.”

  Diana let her head roll from side to side with the motion of the carriage. “And what would you do with it, Mama? If we were rich?”

  There was a lengthy pause. Just when she thought her mother would dismiss the question as frivolous and accuse Diana of drinking too much wine, she was surprised to receive the sudden, loud, and adamant response, “I would not shell another pea. I know that much!”

  While Diana choked on a chuckle, her mother added, “And I would get a peacock.”

  “To eat?”

  “No, foolish girl! To walk about the lawn with its pretty tail on display.” Her mother’s voice had turned positively dreamy as she looked out the window at the dusk-shaded view. “I always rather fancied having a peacock when I was a girl.”

  Diana stayed silent, too amused by this odd confession to risk spoiling the moment.

  Nine

  …He was not altered, or not for the worse. She had already acknowledged it to herself, and she could not think differently, let him think of her as he would. No; the years which had destroyed her youth and bloom had only given him a more glowing, manly, open look, in no respect lessening his personal advantages…

  “So altered that he should not have known her again!” These were words which could not but dwell with her. Yet she soon began to rejoice that she had heard them. They were of sobering tendency; they allayed agitation; they composed, and consequently must make her happier.

  —Persuasion

  “It’s been decided! We are holding our book society meeting out of doors today,” Sarah exclaimed, dashing through the door. “We’re having a picnic! Isn’t it a wonderful idea?”

  Diana frowned. “What if it rains?”

  “Oh, it won’t,” replied Sarah with the blissful naiveté of the very young. “Look, the sun is out.”

  As if that ever meant much at all. Sometimes Diana thought she was the only Book Club Belle with caution in her soul these days. Again she missed Cathy. “Yes, but—”

  “Come on, Diana, make haste! Put on your bonnet. We are all going to Raven’s Hill in the cart. What fun we shall have. This will surely put some color back in your cheeks, poor Diana!”

  Poor Diana.

  How often had she heard that lately? It may as well be marked on her forehead.

  There was barely time to slip into her coat, grab Persuasion from the parlor table, and let her mother—who was working in the vegetable garden that morning—know she was going out.

  Mrs. Makepiece looked up from pulling weeds, shaded her eyes from the sun with one hand, and advised Diana not to sit on any damp grass. In a tolerant mood for once, perhaps enjoying the improved weather, she raised no objection to the idea of a picnic or of her daughter going out without her. She didn’t even feel it necessary to warn about suspicious gypsies or unscrupulous strangers they might meet on the road.

  Since last night and the party at Willow Tree Farm, Diana’s mother had been full of gossip about Nathaniel, harvested mostly from the parson’s chatty wife.

  “Mrs. Kenton saw him at the Manderson assembly dance with an infamous adulteress,” she’d told Diana at breakfast. “Naturally he had the gall to deny his own name when she confronted him there, but she knew who he was. He couldn’t fool her. He’s up to no good, of course. Why else would he pretend to be someone else? He keeps his common mistress shut away in Manderson, out of sight, while he parades about here in those fancy clothes waiting for fish to bite. I knew he had not changed.”

  Thus Diana learned of the existence of his tawdry companion ensconced at the Royal Oak. It was no more or less than she should have expected from the rake, and it barely caused her an intake of breath. She was able to ask h
er mama which jam she wanted from the pantry without even a blink or a long pause to betray her reaction to this news.

  “What would Mr. Bridges have to say if he knew about the adulteress, I wonder,” her mother had added.

  “Mr. Bridges? What could it signify to him?”

  “Captain Sherringham came back here in fancy clothes to court an unsuspecting bride. And we may all guess who he has his eye on now. That flirtatious, idle creature at the tavern. He ran off with her once before, if memory serves.”

  “Mama, that is a slight exaggeration. Lucy rode to Manderson one morning without telling anyone, just because she was feeling ignored and unappreciated. Captain Sherringham happened to travel the same road that day when he left Hawcombe Prior. He found her and sent her home again quite safe.”

  “That’s the formal story her family came up with. You mark my words, there can be only one reason for the captain to call on Mr. Bridges while the tavern is closed for business. I daresay the family would welcome anybody taking that girl off their hands. They cannot afford to be too particular.”

  She had buttered her toast with firm swipes of the knife. “At least we know the captain will not bother you again. He told Sarah Wainwright that he found you so altered he would never have recognized you.”

  Diana caught her breath and spooned a large helping of jam onto her toast. “I neither expected nor wanted to be noticed again by Captain Sherringham. The thought never crossed my mind.”

  “I would hope not. Don’t use too much jam, Diana. We’re almost out of the raspberry, and there won’t be any more until it’s made this summer.”

  As her mother’s thoughts turned to making jam, she was almost cheerful for once—an unnatural state that hovered precariously like a china cup on an ill-balanced saucer. Diana felt it necessary to be as quiet as possible and do nothing to upset the tilt of that delicate saucer. Perhaps leaving the house for a few hours would be a good thing.

  As she followed Sarah out the front gate, she saw her friends gathered in “the cart”—a sturdy but not very comfortable vehicle generally used to transport Luke Wainwright’s pigs and sheep to and from the market. Today it was filled with fresh straw bales and loaded with a different, more fragrant cargo. Apparently the fine new carriage could not be spared for their jaunt—or else Rebecca and Jussy had decided this would be more fun. The latter was the more likely scenario.