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

by Jayne Fresina

  The group gathered in the back of the cart was rather noisy and excited that morning, because all the children had been brought out too. Justina explained, “My Wainwright simply refused to have the girls at home with him again today, and it’s the nursemaid’s half day.”

  Rebecca sat in the front to drive the horses, and Justina leaned out from the back to help Diana up. She was immediately clambered upon by the children, of whom she was very fond. The little ones did not care what clothes a person wore or how much of a fortune they had, or whether they had a great number of clever things to say. As long as there was a warm, welcoming lap and the possibility of a game or two, they were happy.

  Lucy was already seated on a straw bale, eagerness adding natural color to her cheeks today. As she said, at least this meeting was taking place in a new location and therefore had a sense of novelty about it. “Your mama’s parlor can get awfully stuffy, Diana. And goodness knows, you could benefit from some spring air too! Poor thing. How wilted you are from the lack of sun.”

  The cart pulled forward with a sudden jerk that almost knocked her off her straw bale seat. Everyone else squealed with excitement, Rebecca yelled a hasty apology, and then they were off at a slow, rather bumpy pace.

  The air was warm that morning, the birds singing merrily. Diana glanced up at the sky and saw only a few fleecy clouds rolling by, nothing to threaten rain. Yet. She tried to be as carefree as the others, for they would not want her dour warnings casting a shadow on their day out.

  “I know,” shouted Sarah, “let’s sing a song!”

  Inwardly Diana cringed. She loved her friends dearly but few of them could hold a note. The more excited they were, the noisier they were, and they liked their music the same way. Diana had been told that she had a very musical ear, but since she was rarely given the chance to hear music played flawlessly, or without someone yelling or stamping over it, this advantage seemed destined to be wasted.

  She had seen a sketch once in the newspaper of a concert performance, during which the audience was seated and apparently attentive while the orchestra played and a luxuriously curved Italian lady sang. That would be nice, she thought wistfully. Just to listen to the music for once and not be correcting someone’s playing.

  Her friends, meanwhile, made their own music fearlessly, not caring who heard or how offended a sensitively tuned ear might be.

  At least her mama needn’t worry about highwaymen and bandits on the turnpike road, Diana mused. Anyone who thought of apprehending them would hear this noise and surely run for cover.

  * * *

  Nathaniel called at the tavern that morning to leave his condolences for the family. Mr. Bridges, he soon discovered, was out—called to a meeting with the solicitor in Manderson—but his wife was more than happy to welcome a visitor. She was very like her daughter: she loved company and her spirits had suffered from the loss of it during this mourning period.

  “You must come to dine with us, Captain,” she exclaimed, eyeing his fine suit of clothes and the silver pin in his cravat. “I know Lucy will be overjoyed to see you. She has talked about little else since you left. It’s Captain this and Captain that. Never stops!”

  “Really?” He smiled at that, doubting it very much. Lucy was the sort to forget about anything once it was not immediately before her, and it had been more than three years since he was last in her presence.

  “Although she will be disappointed that you are no longer in your red coat. My daughter has always had a great fondness for soldiers.”

  Now that he could believe. He’d met a lot of young girls like Lucy hanging around army camps. But he suspected it would not be considered gentlemanly to make such an observation, so he said, “Are you sure your husband wouldn’t object if I join you for dinner? You are, after all, still grieving for your mother’s passing.”

  She flapped her hand at him. “I think we’ve all suffered enough for it, and he cannot begrudge us ladies a little good company.” Again she eyed his silver pin. “The best sort of company. For our dear Lucy.”

  After agreeing to join them for dinner the following evening—thinking he might afterward have an opportunity to discuss business with the tavern keeper—Nathaniel took his leave of Mrs. Bridges and steered his horse across the common to find the carpenter, Sam Hardacre, standing outside his workshop with a very peevish expression on his face.

  “Cap’n Sherringham,” he muttered in sullen greeting as Nathaniel’s horse drew near. “So it’s true and you are back.” It didn’t sound as if this caused the fellow much pleasure.

  “Mr. Hardacre, I see you’ve expanded your shop premises. I heard about your father’s passing. I’m sorry. He was a good man.”

  “Aye, he was.” Sam’s brow darkened in a heavy frown. “Not enough of them about.”

  “Very true.”

  Sam wiped his hands on a rag and glowered up at Nathaniel. “Planning to stay long, Cap’n?”

  “Just until I conclude some business with Mr. Bridges.” He was accustomed to people thinking they had some grievance against him. Apparently he had the sort of face that caused people to distrust his motives even when he was perfectly innocent, but he had no idea what he could have done to Sam Hardacre. In fact, as far as he recalled, he’d lost quite a bit of coin to the young man in the past over card games at the tavern. In all likelihood he’d paid for part of the carpenter’s expanded premises, he mused. “I’ll soon leave you all in peace again, never fear.”

  “Good. And hopefully as you found us.”

  When Nathaniel asked if he’d seen a cartload of young ladies driving by recently, Sam replied snappishly, “I have.” He pointed with the business end of a hammer. “Went up Raven’s Hill.” Then he turned away, shoulders rounded. “I daresay there’s naught I can do about it.”

  “Mr. Hardacre, do you have something you wish to say? I believe in a man speaking aloud if there is something preying on his mind. Nothing can be done for those who do not help themselves.”

  Sam growled, “I’ve naught to say to you.”

  “Excellent. Well, I shall bid you good day.” Frustrated, Nathaniel tipped his hat to the back of the other man’s head and rode off to follow the Book Club Belles on their jaunt.

  Gentlemen were usually strictly banned from their little society, but Nathaniel wasn’t one to let rules get in his way. Besides, it had been his idea that they take their meeting outside for a picnic today. He had suggested it to Sarah when they were thinking of ways to get Lucy Bridges out for an airing to improve her spirits.

  “What you all need, young lady, is a picnic in the sun,” he’d said. “If Mr. Bridges only lets your friend out for book society meetings, then that must be your chance to cheer her up.”

  “Yes,” Sarah had exclaimed, “and how much nicer than sitting in Mrs. Makepiece’s stuffy parlor with her listening through the walls.”

  He couldn’t agree more.

  Urging his horse into a gallop, he headed for Raven’s Hill.

  * * *

  It was Diana’s turn to read aloud, although she was constantly interrupted by one or another of her friends’ children, who could not sit still but had to be chasing birds, collecting worms, or drooling on somebody’s muslin every few minutes.

  She plowed onward with the bright sun beaming down upon the page. Earlier she’d felt a little improved and had thought the warmth of the day could only help. But nothing worsened a stuffy head more, she now found, than sitting outside surrounded by noisy children and pollen.

  Sarah very sweetly offered to hold her parasol over Diana’s head to keep the glare off her page, but the girl was every bit as distracted and inattentive as the little children. Since she kept letting the beaded fringe of her parasol descend over the words being read, it was, all things considered, more time consuming and interruptive than it was useful.

  And it was during one of those mom
ents—just as the wobbling, ill-managed parasol tipped once again over Diana’s head, bumped her in the eye, and obscured the words of her book—when a horse could be heard thudding through the grass toward them. Hidden behind this fringed obstruction and waiting for her eye to recover, Diana was prevented from recognizing the new arrival immediately. Therefore, she was also the last to offer any sort of greeting.

  Not that the unexpected guest waited for a welcome or apologized for interrupting.

  Under the fringe of the parasol, with her smarting eye closed, she watched Nathaniel’s boots dismount, leave his horse in the shade of a tree, and bring his arrogant carcass to sit on the blanket among her friends. His presence stole their attention from the characters in the book, so Diana paused a moment until they were all settled again. Then she read on.

  The evening ended with dancing. On its being proposed, Anne offered her services, as usual; and though her eyes would sometimes fill with tears as she sat at the instrument, she was extremely glad to be employed, and desired nothing in return but to be unobserved.

  It was typical of Nathaniel to follow them to their picnic, of course. The cad might not be a great reader, but no gathering was more attractive to him than one of ladies who professed not to want a man among them. He used to appear at the parlor window during their book society meetings and startle them all by suddenly knocking on the glass, pretending to be “spying on what wicked hussies get up to when gentlemen aren’t around.”

  Mrs. Makepiece would later be infuriated by the smudge marks his knuckles left on her glass panes. All part of his amusement, naturally.

  Once, too, he spoke to her. She had left the instrument on the dancing being over, and he had sat down to try to make out an air which he wished to give the Miss Musgroves an idea of. Unintentionally she returned to that part of the room; he saw her, and, instantly rising, said, with studied politeness,—

  “I beg your pardon, madam, this is your seat”; and though she immediately drew back with a decided negative, he was not to be induced to sit down again.

  Under the swaying shadow of Sarah’s parasol, Diana felt her pulse grow uneven and too fast, making her feel as if she might jump out of her own skin. Her injured eye kept tearing up, so she covered it with one hand and read on with only half sight and a mounting headache.

  Anne did not wish for more of such looks and speeches. His cold politeness, his ceremonious grace, were worse than anything.

  Success! She had read to the end of the chapter without rousing anyone’s suspicion of her scattered nerves. If only she might find some way to soothe her head.

  “So this is the story that holds the Book Club Belles enthralled now,” Nathaniel exclaimed, setting his hat on the blanket and sweeping quick fingers through his gilded hair. “Another foolish heroine. And who is the love of her life?”

  “There is none,” chirped Lucy. “She was once engaged to Captain Wentworth, but called it off when she heartlessly changed her mind. Now she’s just an old maid and he has come back handsome and rich. I really do not like Anne for she is very immature and always feeling hard done by.”

  This was a hilarious comment considering the nature of the person who made it, but while the others fell about laughing, Diana and Nathaniel remained solemn.

  “She sounds like a cowardly young woman who has no one to blame for her trials but herself,” he said. “There is nothing worse than a woman who wavers easily when she faces a little obstacle, who cannot stand up for her own passions and would rather pretend she has none.”

  Diana felt such a hard pinch in her heart that it took her breath away. She moved Sarah’s swaying parasol aside to get a better look at his face, but immediately regretted it as they all exclaimed over her sore, squinting eye. She covered it again with one hand.

  “But please, don’t let me spoil your enjoyment, ladies,” Nathaniel exclaimed as he saw her placing an embroidered marker in the page, ready to close the book.

  “It is the end of the chapter,” she murmured, not wishing to share more of Anne Elliot’s sad story with him when he was so ready to dislike the character.

  “But you must read on. I am anxious to know what happens next to this poor Anna girl and whether she will ever learn to speak up for herself.”

  “Her name is Anne, and she can speak up for herself. She waits until she is certain of what she has to say. Unlike some people who speak the first thing that comes to mind and regret it later.”

  Nathaniel shrugged, his eyes narrowed against the sun. “Some folk think too much. They become inert, unable to act out of fear. If we all worried about the dreadful things that might happen, nothing would ever be done, nothing good achieved, nothing new discovered.”

  “But fewer mistakes made. Less pain caused.”

  “I would rather risk some pain than close my heart away from contact and chance to keep it safe and therefore have no joy at all.”

  “Anne Elliot has feelings. Many of them,” Diana exclaimed in defense of her favorite character. “She just does not care to expose them to the ridicule and derision of others. Especially when those feelings can do no good for anybody she cares about and it would be selfish of her to express them.”

  “Then she is a fool, and as I suspected, her problems are her own fault,” he scoffed, chewing on a blade of grass. “I’m sure no one around her labors under such indecision and hesitation. There is selflessness and then there is martyrdom.”

  With her unwounded eye, she looked up at his smug countenance and felt her temper rising. Carefully and with as much dignity as she could manage while somewhat resembling a pirate, she replied, “And to imagine, Captain, that I did not think you joined us to discuss books. I felt sure you were merely here to distract us and cause mischief.”

  A gleam of surprise lit his gaze with an extra spark of clear, piercing blue. “No indeed, you mistake me. I am always reading!” He glanced at his sister. “Next to gardening, it is one of my favorite pastimes. I absorbed every word. Please, do continue.”

  Diana had no inkling what he meant by the remark about gardening, but clearly it was a joke between him and Rebecca. He sat casually on the blanket, one knee up, his arm resting across it, his fingers loosely linked. The scene might have been an oil painting, she thought. A moment captured for posterity of a privileged, golden young buck with no cares in the world.

  With a taut sigh, Diana declared that she would concede defeat to the sunny day and the pleas of the children who wanted the picnic basket opened.

  Since Nathaniel’s gleaming presence was a novelty that made Anne Elliot and Captain Wentworth’s problems dull in comparison, no one else made a convincing protest against pausing the story for now. As Lucy declared, “On such a sunny day, who wants to read a book?”

  “If it were not for books,” Sarah sharply reminded her, “you would not even be allowed out of the house. It is only because of the book society that your papa let you out.”

  Nathaniel swiftly turned to Lucy and offered his sympathies for the demise of her grandmother.

  “Well, she was ancient and terribly mean to everybody,” Lucy replied. “She always thought my mama could have done so much better when she married my papa, and she took it out on all of us. Oh, what sort of cake did you bring, Jussy?”

  “How dreadful,” Nathaniel muttered. “I have never understood why people shouldn’t marry as they please. A great deal of unhappiness would be avoided in the world if people married for love.”

  “I agree,” said Lucy firmly. “But some folk don’t like others to be happy because they are miserable themselves.”

  “Precisely.” Nathaniel smiled dashingly at the young woman. “Miss Bridges, hold very still.”

  She froze, eyes wide. “What is it, Captain?”

  He raised a hand to her shoulder and captured a ladybird that was about to crawl onto her fair ringlet. As Lucy gushed with gratitude, he e
xamined the creature on his finger, then blew gently until it took flight.

  No one seemed to notice that the ladybird next landed on the crease of Diana’s open pages. She moved it carefully to the safety of a blade of grass before she closed the book. She had just done so, when one of Justina’s daughters launched herself at Diana’s back, clung around her neck in a stranglehold, and refused to let go.

  Diana cajoled the little girl to let her breathe again, but she was not heeded. Across the picnic blanket, Justina was preoccupied with arguing with her other daughter about whether or not the child could have more than one biscuit. The other ladies paid no attention to Diana’s struggle, too busy examining the contents of the picnic hamper. Packed by the Wainwrights’ excellent French chef, it was a veritable feast of delights.

  Diana’s head throbbed and her desperation mounted. The child, assuming this was merely a game, was heavy on her back, her arms tight. To throw the giggling bundle off her could result in injury, and to discipline a child who was not one’s own was always a difficult business.

  Then suddenly she was rescued. The naughty girl was plucked from her back by strong hands and tossed playfully into the air. Squinting, Diana looked up and found Nathaniel behind her, his tall form outlined by the sun’s bright glare. She had not even known he was on his feet or standing nearby until that moment.

  No word passed between them, but a glance of hesitant thanks and one of mildly surprised acceptance were exchanged following this simple act of kindness.

  He had come to her rescue yet again, and from his expression, he didn’t know why he had done it. She could not imagine why he had either.

  The spiteful sun stung her eyes as she watched Nathaniel’s tall silhouette spinning around, letting the naughty child “fly” through the air. How strong he was. Of course the children loved him because he was fearless and knew how to tease them. Unlike some men, he did not mind how silly he looked while doing it.