How to Fall for the Wrong Man

by Harmony Williams

  “Was that why you wouldn’t climb the big oak tree in the back? You climbed every other.”

  “No.” My voice was high and sharp.

  He chuckled. “It was.”

  I didn’t deign to answer. Instead, I reached through to the other side of the window and hauled myself over the lip. As I lay flat on my belly, Edwin’s grip on my ankle tightened. “You will come back for me, won’t you?”

  I twisted, but my hips blocked all view of him. He probably had a nice view of my backside. I swallowed. “I told you I would. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

  He released my ankle. I tried to pull myself through, but my hips got stuck. “Um, Edwin?”

  “I told you that you wouldn’t fit.”

  I scowled. “I’ll fit. I just need you to give me a shove.”

  “Come back down, Mary.”

  “No.” I thrashed as his hands framed my hips, starting to pull me inward. “I’m not giving up. Give me a shove.”

  He sighed. A moment later, his big hands fitted against my rear. My body ached from the contact. I wriggled, trying to get away from his touch and the inopportune desire it ignited, but that only brought me in closer contact.

  “Mary…” His voice was low. Almost husky.

  No. I must be imagining things.

  “Give me a shove.”

  He did. A stray piece of wood snagged my dress just above my hip. I winced as it dug through the cloth and into my skin. I clawed at the ground, trying to lever myself out as Edwin pushed.

  All of a sudden, I popped free. My dress ripped with a hideous tear. I didn’t care. I scrambled to my feet.

  My hip throbbed. I carefully gripped the shard of wood and pulled it from my skin. Blood oozed to the surface. A scratch, nothing more. I had a salve at home.

  Edwin thrust his arm through the window, groping for me. I bent to meet his gaze.

  “Mary?”

  Something vulnerable, almost boyish, lit his gaze. He didn’t want to be left alone. And why would he? The last time someone had left him—his father—he hadn’t returned. I knew precisely how he felt, now more than ever.

  My throat constricted, but I forced myself to say, “I’ll be right around. Go stand by the door.”

  I hobbled to the kitchen door. Thankfully, it was unlocked. I wrenched it open to find the kitchen completely deserted. Didn’t they have work to do? Steam bubbled from a pot on the stove. Dirty dishes piled in the sink. Apparently tricking Edwin and me took precedence over a few measly chores. I limped closer to the cellar door. Every step stretched the small wound in my side. It throbbed.

  Nancy and the others had pulled the pock-marked table against the door. No wonder Edwin hadn’t been able to budge it. I wrapped my hands around one leg and pulled with all my might. It screeched as it moved a few inches across the floor. It was bloody heavy!

  “Mary?” Edwin’s voice was muffled from the door, but I deciphered his word easily enough.

  “I’m here,” I said. “This is going to take a minute.”

  “Hurry up.”

  “Easy for you to say,” I grumbled under my breath. “You only had to lift me, not this godforsaken table.” The table must weight twice as much as me.

  I dug in my heels and pulled again.

  Despite the racket, no one appeared to help me. As soon as I hauled the table far enough to slip in between it and the door, I put my back to the table and used the door for leverage to push. It moved further. With relief, I finally maneuvered it far enough to open the cellar door. Sweat matted my hairline and dripped between my shoulder blades.

  The moment I unlatched the door, Edwin burst into the open air. He gulped for breath. “Bloody hell.”

  My feelings, exactly.

  He turned a pugnacious eye on the room. “Where is that woman?”

  I shrugged. “She must be here somewhere.”

  I hobbled off, cringing as I put weight wrong on my right leg. It shot right up to my hip.

  Edwin’s jaw dropped. “Mary, you’re bleeding!”

  “It’s just a scratch. I’ll be fine.”

  His gaze lingered along the rip of my dress, prominent enough that my milk-white thigh showed through. I turned, covering the wound from his gaze.

  He shook his head. “It needs to be washed. I’ll find something to bind it.”

  “I said it’s fine.” Why did he insist on tending to every last bump and scrape? He should have become a physician, not a botanist. I strode toward the door with a stiff gait, determined not to limp.

  He caught up to me with two strides and latched onto my arm. “Why won’t you let me help you for once in your life?”

  I pulled free, lifting my chin. “I don’t need your help. I can take care of myself.”

  I stepped out the door, freezing on the threshold when he spoke once more.

  “Did you ever consider that maybe I’m not trying to rob you of your independence, but bolster your strength instead? Relying on a friend doesn’t make you weak.”

  An ache blossomed in my chest. Could he be right?

  In a small voice, I asked, “Is that what we are? Friends?”

  His gaze dropped to my mouth. His pupils widened, darkening his eyes. “We could be more.”

  Was he suggesting I join him in bed again…or become his wife? Dropping my gaze, I stepped back. “I need to go home to change. Latch the gate behind me. I wouldn’t want you to be robbed.”

  I hobbled away without waiting to see if he would obey. My body tingled as I wondered whether I should have stayed.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “No one has ever been more miserable than I am now.”

  Old Lady Gladstone caught my mumble and lifted her head from where she perched on the emerald-green divan, taking tea with Edwin’s mother. Both women matched today, dressed in blue. The countess wore a rococo patterned blue-and-white dress that resembled the walls. If she wasn’t wearing a flamboyant purple turban with a long ostrich feather poking out the top that tickled the tops of the doorframes through which she entered, she would have blended with the walls. In contrast, the dowager’s sky-blue walking dress, trimmed with lace along the top of the bodice, was positively staid. Her hair was fashioned into two plaits twined at the back of her head and pinned into place, almost resembling two large stumps of antlers. Her face, tinted with white powder that made her look almost sickly, beamed with good health as she monitored my misery.

  “What is that, dear?” Old Lady Gladstone asked.

  I forced a smile. “Lovely sitting room,” I said. “Have you redone it lately?”

  “Oh, no,” she laughed, fluttering her hand over her ample bosom. “This room has been the very same way for years.”

  “Are you sure?” My teeth creaked, I ground them so hard. “That painting of a horse in a meadow must be new.”

  The countess peered at the picture in question, squinting. “No, I’m certain Lord Gladstone commissioned that while he was still in prime health. It’s of his favorite horse.”

  There was an almost wistful quality to her voice. A lump formed in my throat. Did she miss her husband? He had been sick, locked away in the east wing, for as long as I could remember. For some reason, I’d assumed that her marriage had been like all the other marriages of my peers—for convenience, rather than love. The smile slipped from her face and she took another sip of her tea from a teacup trimmed in gold.

  I lowered my gaze to my feet. The modiste knelt, rump in the air and pins in her mouth as she adjusted the hem on this monstrosity. So many ruffles! I hated it. But what could I say? Take them off. Not only would that insult both the modiste and Old Lady Gladstone, who chose the style, but I didn’t intend to wear it anyway.

  After all, I wouldn’t be getting married.

  “You look lovely, my dear.”

  I met Old Lady Gladstone’s gaze. That wistful smile had replaced her frown as she rested her gaze on me. Tears shimmered in her eyes.

  I swallowed twice before I managed to say, “Thank y
ou.”

  I didn’t sound convinced, but she didn’t seem to mind.

  “I wish your mother was here.” Her voice was so low, it almost didn’t make it all the way to my ears. “She would have been so proud.”

  Would she have? Her last piece of advice had been to marry a man who accepted me as I was and didn’t try to change me. Even Edwin didn’t match that description.

  I fiddled with the sleeve of the dress, which reached to my wrists. Even in the relative shade of the sitting room, the air was sweltering. At this rate, I’d sweat through the silk before the fitting ended.

  The bodice dipped low across my small breasts. The high empire waistline would be secured with an elegant embroidered sash that reminded me of a fancy ribbon. The long train guaranteed I would trip.

  If I ever married, I resolved then and there to do so wearing breeches. No fuss, no hazard of ending my life before my happiness began.

  Old Lady Gladstone, unfortunately, had other ideas.

  “Doesn’t she look darling?” Old Lady Gladstone exclaimed, her voice amplified.

  I made a face but didn’t look up.

  At least, not until Edwin’s deep tone answered, “Indeed, she does.”

  His mother turned her face up to him with a smile that lit up her face. She winked. “Don’t you worry, Edwin. She’ll have an entire new trousseau and something special for the wedding night.”

  He colored such a shade of plum, he almost matched the countess’s turban. The color curled all the way up his neck to his ears.

  Ignoring the comment, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to his mother’s cheek. “It’s nice to see you out of bed.”

  “I couldn’t miss this!” She clasped both hands to her chest and swung her face to study me again.

  I shifted in place. The modiste glared at me.

  “You’re starting your life together. It reminds me of when I was young.”

  Accepting a cup of tea, Edwin sat next to his mother. “You’re still young, Mama. You can start again if you so choose.”

  Lady Yarmouth’s face fell. She fiddled with the handle of her teacup. Although she didn’t say a word, her pain and trepidation was scrawled across her face. Old Lady Gladstone reached over to clutch her sister’s hand.

  Side by side, the three resembled a family of ducks. All with the same shape of nose and face, though Edwin’s hair was darker than his mother’s and his aunt’s hair was covered by her turban. Their eyes twinkled with the same shade of hazel.

  Old Lady Gladstone cleared her throat with a loud harrumph. She squeezed the dowager’s hand. “Just think, by this time next year we’ll have a new addition to the family to dote on.”

  A child? I swayed at the thought. No doubt I turned paler than my dress.

  Edwin’s teacup rattled in the saucer as he set it down. He changed the subject. Loudly. “I encountered Lady Peebles on Bond Street the other day.”

  The longing look on Old Lady Gladstone’s face dissipated. Her lips thinned and she took a sip of her tea. “Oh?”

  At least I could hope for no more talk of children. Edwin and I could barely see eye to eye! The thought of adding a child into that volatile mix made me queasy. I shifted in spot, earning a glare from the modiste.

  “She asked me to remember her to you. She said she…missed you.”

  The countess’s eyebrows inched higher and the corners of her lips turned up. “Did she?” Old Lady Gladstone raised her cup halfway to her lips. Then, seeming to forget what she was doing, she lowered it again. “It has been a long time since we’ve taken tea. Perhaps I’ll call on her.”

  Lady Yarmouth sat straighter, a broad smile on her face. “Perhaps you ought to invite her here. I remember trailing after the two of you all the time when you were debs. My, how long ago that was.”

  The countess nodded. “Too long. But you’re right. We’ll invite her to dinner. I’m certain I can afford to provide a better quality of meal.”

  That seemed to be a point of contention, but the look of superiority on the countess’s face faded.

  “She never had any children, either.” The dowager murmured, so low I almost didn’t catch the words.

  Old Lady Gladstone cleared her throat. Her voice was weak as she answered, “Not so. She had six years with her son before the fever took him.”

  Edwin shifted in the seat. He looked acutely uncomfortable.

  Old Lady Gladstone donned a bright smile. “That won’t happen in their case. They’re both as hale as horses.”

  My pulse throbbed in the base of my throat. I exchanged a panicked glance with Edwin.

  The dowager latched onto her son’s hand with a grip like iron, given his grimace. “When should I expect my first grandchild? You should take advantage of your youth and good health while you can.” Although she clutched Edwin’s hand, she stared directly at me. “It is your duty to provide him with an heir.”

  My vision grew spotty. I swayed in place. The modiste growled. She yanked on the dress to force me to balance on the stool once more as she spat out the pins. “You must stand still or the dress will be crooked.”

  I’d rather have a crooked dress. If she didn’t have her hands fisted in the skirt, I would have vaulted for the door.

  Edwin came to my rescue. “Mama.” His voice was admonishing. “I’ll thank you both not to say another word on the subject.”

  I’d never been so grateful for his presence. He handled the enthusiasm of both women with aplomb. I shared a smile with him.

  “Quite right,” Old Lady Gladstone said with a nod. “We can’t be thinking of children before the wedding’s taken place.”

  My smile slipped.

  Edwin caught my gaze. He raised his eyebrows, as if you say, Endure it a little longer.

  I shook my head. I can’t.

  He stood from the divan abruptly. “I’m actually here to collect Mary if I may. We have a luncheon engagement.”

  The dowager fluttered a hand over her chest. “Dear me, you’ll be late.”

  He mustered a tight smile. “Quite so. If I might suggest we hurry this along?”

  At my feet, the modiste sat back on her heels. She removed the pins from her mouth one by one and shoved them into a pin cushion. “I have the measurements I need. In fact, her squirming only prolongs the fitting. I can straighten the hem at my shop.”

  Within moments, Edwin was ushered from the room while the modiste stripped me of the gauzy over gown. The silk under gown stuck to my skin, but she peeled it away with tight lips. I accepted her help to don the plain yellow walking dress I’d worn upon my arrival. My knees were weak as I stumbled from the room into the corridor, where Edwin waited.

  He secured my hand on his arm and strolled with me toward the exit.

  “Do we have a luncheon engagement?” I whispered. Even playing the bacon-brained debutante with the Cravens was more palatable to being fitted for a wedding dress I would never wear.

  He leaned his head closer to mine. “Of course not. But you looked miserable. I thought you could use some help.”

  I tightened my hold on his arm. “Thank you.” I’d never meant those words more than I did at that moment.

  As we stepped out of earshot of the parlor, he turned to face me, his eyes dark. “I’m always willing to lend my help whenever you need it.” He held my gaze a fraction of a second longer. “Always.”

  Why did I feel as though I’d just lost an argument?

  Softly, Edwin added, “You didn’t return.”

  “No, I didn’t.” I dropped my gaze to the shiny gold button on his blue jacket. Although I could have fallen on Old Lady Gladstone’s summons for an excuse, we would both know that would ring false. I’d ignored her summons a time or two before, especially when it pertained to a dress fitting.

  “I thought we had a truce.”

  “We do.” For five more short days.

  Slipping his hand beneath my chin, he raised my gaze. He didn’t drop his hand, his touch warm. “I’d hoped you wo
uld return and we might spend the day together…perhaps the night, as well.”

  In other words, he hoped I would forget our arguments and warm his bed. The past two nights, lying in my lonesome room with Puck and staring at the ceiling as I’d tried to fall asleep, I’d been tempted. Waking up next to him had been divine. It was the complications afterward that had soured the moment.

  When I didn’t answer, he added, “Perhaps if you had returned, I could have intervened on your behalf and delayed this dress fitting.”

  Why would he bother? He’d made no secret that he wanted a wedding of convenience, to go along with the stale, loveless marriage he envisioned. Unless, of course, spending time with me had changed his mind. Perhaps he no longer wanted a lifelong arrangement and hoped I would win our wager, after all.

  My voice a hush, I retreated to the familiar excuse. “I could handle the matter on my own. I don’t need you to hold me up.”

  He brushed his thumb across my chin. “Simply because you don’t need my support doesn’t mean you shouldn’t have it. We can be a team now.” Dropping his hand, he raised it to rub the back of his neck instead, as if he didn’t know what else to say.

  I did. Clasping my hands together tight to hide their tremor, I confessed, “I thought we were a team years ago, before you left.” What if I let myself rely on him and he left me again?

  He stiffened and pinched the bridge of his nose as if staving off a headache. “Bloody hell, Mary. I left to get my education. I always intended to come back.”

  “In a couple of years.” Didn’t he understand what it was like without him nearby, without knowing how university would change him? Swallowing hard, I took a step back, not meeting his gaze. “Years change you, Edwin. You’d come back an entirely different person. You’d get your fancy male education and think you’re better than those of us who don’t have that option.”

  Blast, was I crying? I blinked hard as I straightened. The jealousy over the opportunities he’d been given was bad enough, but at fifteen I’d been afraid I would lose him forever. And I had… Now that we’d reconnected, how did I know that wouldn’t happen again? Once we dissolved our engagement, I didn’t know if we would remain friends, let alone…more.