The Lady's Hero

by Carolyn R. Scheidies

  Betsy moved over and tugged the skirt of her white gown sprinkled with green, rose and yellow flowers out of his way as he sat. “I did not expect you to take Mother up on her obvious invitation.”

  She gulped under his steady gaze. “I don’t suppose you did. And your mother?”

  Betsy lifted her hand as she shrugged. “She is here—someplace.”

  “I went to where I left you off the other day.”

  Feeling his gaze on her, she flushed and stared down at her half boots. Reaching down, she rubbed a small mud ball from the side. “I see. You went to the door?”

  “I did. A rather top-lofty butler thought I had an attic to let when I asked after you.” He simply watched her squirm.

  His quiet interrogation irritated her. “I had my reasons, but I am sorry for your trouble.”

  “Are you, now?” He leaned back against the wall, his gaze still on her. She felt accused without a word.

  “I will not have you upsetting your sister.”

  “That’s the reason you continue to confound my attempts to find her whereabouts?” He made it more a statement than a question and she flushed again. What a time to notice his Spanish blue jacket showed off his shoulders to perfection. The white of his cravat—nicely tied—set off his chiseled features. Warmth having nothing to do with anger flowed through her.

  “We’ve wrangled enough, my lady.” His gaze grew more intense. “I must needs speak with my sister.”

  Mayhap her unwanted response dictated her waspishness. “You sister is doing well, Edward. But you don’t believe that, do you?”

  Edward’s lips thinned. “I can hardly discern the truth of the matter when I have yet to speak with her.” He paused. “I want her direction. Time for games is over. As much as I enjoy spending time with you, Betsy, my mission in London is to see to my sister’s future.”

  “That is it?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  Betsy blinked back tears. Oh, the man made her incredibly angry. Had he no notion how she felt, how his marked attentions did something to her heart? Were they all just to get her to reveal Angella’s whereabouts? It was not to be borne. She stood so quickly her book fell off her lap, much to her horror. Edward caught it before it hit the floor.

  “Where does this go?”

  She showed him and he slid it back onto the shelf. “Now, where might I find my sister?” His gaze narrowed. “Or shall I ask your mother?”

  Betsy ground her teeth. “Odious man.”

  This brought forth a smile and increased her ire. True, he needed to see Angella, and she needed to figure it out and soon, but not here and now. Not one used to subterfuge, Betsy nonetheless took a chance. Closing her eyes, she swayed toward him. “Oh, Edward, I feel faint.”

  * * *

  Betsy was in a taking when she arrived back at Alistair House. Angella pulled her into the parlor, away from her mother. “What is the matter, Betsy? You look positively...well, I am not sure. But something is amiss?”

  “No, everything is amiss. Botheration! That brother of yours puts me quite out of countenance.” Betsy stamped her foot.

  “He does, does he?” Angella took her arm and pulled her down on the settee beside her. “Out with it. You were going to the lending library.”

  “So we did and your brother found us there. He was vexed that I fooled him the other day by having him let me off at a place a street away. He went there, you see.”

  “To see you?” Angella hid a grin behind her palm.

  “La. That did not stop him. Guess he remembered Mother telling him where we’d be today.”

  “So why are you angry with my brother this time?”

  Betsy tugged at her hat until it came off in her hands. She all but shredded the trailing ribbons until Angella pulled it away and set it down on the other side of her on the settee. “He was determined to find you.”

  “You thought he would stop looking for me?”

  “Of course not, but he is angry and I do not want you hurt or Spensor and, and...” Tears gathered in her eyes and she was not even sure why.

  “Oh, Betsy.” Betsy focused as Angella put her hands on either side of her face and forced Betsy to look at her. “Betsy, you are in love with Edward. It is more than a childish hope or dream. You are, aren’t you—really, truly in love?”

  “Oh my.” She swallowed and sighed. “I am, aren’t I—hopelessly in love with your brother?” As Angella released her, she grabbed her friend’s hands. “Angella, what will I do? He’ll go away again and he’ll never see me as a proper wife for him.”

  “Betsy, I have a feeling about this, so don’t despair.” Angella pursed her lips. “Let’s invite him to the ball. A bit late, to be sure, but time enough.”

  “But you...and Spensor?”

  “Will make him see the truth.”

  “Oh, Angella, we can’t!” Betsy heard her wail and winced.

  “Why ever not?”

  “I have no notion where he resides. I’ve bungled everything—again!”

  Angella’s eyes glittered with purpose. “No, no, you haven’t. We serve a God in the business of doing the impossible. I’ll tell you what we’re going to do.”

  Betsy sat forward. “What do you propose?”

  “We pray and trust in the only one who can work it all out.”

  Betsy felt the air leave her lungs. “Yes, we shall pray.”

  “Now.” Angella stared at her as though willing her to believe. “Trust me, Betsy. If God can work a miracle for your cousin and me, He can work things out for you and Edward.”

  Hope sprang up inside. Just maybe... The girls clasped hands and bowed their heads. “Lord Jesus...”

  * * *

  Later he realized she had done it to him again. By the time he alerted Lady Carrington, got them safely to their carriage and on the way home, the subject of Angella melted into the background.

  As he swung into his mentor’s book room, Edward repressed his frustration with difficultly. Other than his bedchambers, it was the room in which he could be most comfortable and think. He more slammed rather than tossed his gloves on a nearby stand as he sank into a cushioned Georgian-style chair in green and rust by the hearth that had long been cleaned out of ashes and replaced with a bouquet of spring flowers. The scent made him think of Betsy and his ire with her grew.

  Yet how could he be wroth with her? Mayhap she really was not feeling well. Guilt mingled with his frustration and anger, more at himself than at her. How long had he been in London already and no closer to finding his sister? He groaned.

  “My friend,” sounded a deep voice close by, “what ails you this afternoon?”

  Edward started, not realizing Reverend Jeremiah worked at the desk in the corner. He waited as the ponderous minister settled in the matching chair opposite his with a grace that belied his bulk. “I take it you did not find the lady this afternoon?”

  “Actually, I did.” Edward explained about the wrong house, the library and his frustration.

  As he spoke, sometimes rather heatedly, the minister nodded. At times, the slightest of smiles played on his lips. “You believe Betsy is keeping you from your sister.” It was not a question.

  “Assuredly.” Edward sat forward. “Do you not see?”

  “Hmm.” His mentor stroked his cheek with a long finger. “Do you? Son, if you truly wished to see to your sister, why spend so much time chasing after the young Miss Carrington?” He held up a hand to stop Edward’s protestations. “I know you care about your sister, and you, rightly, have concerns. I also think your anger in her case is misplaced. That said...” He paused before continuing. “I believe the real problem is one of the heart.”

  “What!” Something curled into a knot inside. “Of what do you refer?”

  His mentor�
�s gaze discomfited him. “I believe your heart to be engaged. Did I not say Miss Carrington held the key to your sister? The problem is your heart.”

  “That cannot be. Cannot happen. India. My mission.” Edward knew he babbled.

  “There are other ways of finding Lucashire’s whereabouts. You chose one. Why? When you answer that...” The minister left the implications for Edward to figure out.

  The truth slowly dawned and he slumped. Had he not admitted he could not get her out of his thoughts? Yet, somehow, he’d kept himself from fully seeing Betsy as more than a dream. “I cannot be in—in love with Betsy.” He all but whispered the last.

  “Why ever not? She sounds like just the sort of woman who understands your calling. We touched on this subject before.”

  “I know, but how can I expect her to go to India, leaving behind all she’s ever known. For what...? I have little enough to offer. How can I ask her? She is a lady.”

  “Of considerable sense, sounds to me.” This time the minister patted Edward’s knee. “How do you know how she will respond if you do not ask? Never knew you to be a coward, Edward.”

  “I am not...” Mayhap he was where she was concerned. “Do you really believe she would take kindly to my suit?”

  “Ask her, son. Ask.” With that his mentor got slowly to his feet. “As I said before, I do believe once you figure out what to do about young Miss Carrington, the problem with your sister will also untangle itself.” Going to his desk, he returned with a card that he thrust into Edward’s hands. “Here. It is an invitation to a ball at Alistair House. You might find some of your answers there.” He left Edward staring down at the engraved invitation and wondering just how much his mentor knew about the whole situation. Alistair? Wasn’t that the man he’d helped with the carriage? Edward gripped the invitation. Mayhap Alistair would be more helpful than he realized.

  A certain something bubbled up inside when he murmured softly, “Betsy.”

  Now when he conjured her image it was not of a perfect, but unsubstantial young woman who worshiped at his feet. Instead, he knew Betsy was so much more, a real woman of substance, character and strength who was willing to protect his sister, yes, he realized it, even against himself. His cheek twitched as he thought back to his hopes and dreams. He groaned again at his proposal. It was less than honorable. Truly, Christian duty? How starched-up he must have sounded. Only a desperate woman would have accepted that proposal. No wonder he made Betsy cry. She cared for him, of that he was all but certain, but everything he did put her off.

  He confronted his own behavior and found it wanting. Horror clutched his insides. Had he proposed in such a fashion to engender a refusal? Oh, Lord, forgive me.

  He could only hope Betsy could forgive him as well, because he had an important question to ask. Edward gulped, his throat dry just considering speaking his heart to the vital, godly woman who was Miss Betsy Carrington.

  Chapter 12

  The evening was almost more than Edward could handle. It was all too much—the wealth of the jewels, the elegance of the clothing. He stared around the huge ballroom. Even the cost of the decorations would have kept him or another missionary for a long while on the field. He recognized men and women from his talks about his work in India. Many greeted him.

  A tall peer with gray hair and almost black eyes spoke. “Reverend Denning, what brings you out tonight? Surely the entertainment does not include an appeal to our pocketbooks.”

  Edward’s cheek twitched at the implications and he wished for nothing more than to run back out the door. Is this truly how many saw his efforts? He managed a civil reply. “I had an invitation as you did, my lord.”

  Sarcasm flashed in the man’s eyes as he nodded once more and took his leave. Others were more effusive in their consideration. Some wished to know about India itself or his work, and he tried to oblige those who asked. The positive comments almost—almost—wiped out the comments made by the sardonic peer when he first arrived.

  Still and all, he tried to keep his sister in his sights...when his attention did not drift to Betsy, who looked elegant and beautiful. Several young bucks surrounded her, laughing and chatting until he all but clutched his hands together behind his back. At least two seemed to hold more than passing interest for her. He gritted his teeth.

  As the evening progressed, he found himself not only worried his sister had been seduced by this opulent lifestyle, but also struggling with resentment at the style in which she lived.

  Seeing her with the earl left him in no doubt that whatever had happened between them, Angella now fully accepted, relished even, her role in Lucashire’s life. Sorrow more than anger, he realized, consumed him. But at the moment, there was nothing he could do but watch. Ladies and gentlemen smiled and nodded. He scarcely heard. His ears roared. His head pounded, but it was from much more than his anger at his sister, sorrow at her situation or even from his resentment.

  Why had Reverend Jeremiah sent him here? He did not fit in with the glitz and glitter. He felt deuced awkward. The crush kept him from his sister, who seemed here and there, always speaking to this person or that. Besides, he decided it would be better to stay out of his sister’s reach until he came to some conclusion. How or when, Edward had no notion. Still, he found himself staying away from the one person who first drew him back to England.

  Lucashire was never far from her side and seemed all solicitation. Edward held back the force of his tangled emotions and tried to stay unbiased. Mayhap there was an explanation. After all, surely the ton would not accept a dalliance at a social affair. If they knew...Betsy said he did not know the truth. Reverend Jeremiah implied much the same, and Edward suspected his mentor knew more of the situation than he himself realized. What was he missing? Meanwhile, he watched, listened and did little to involve himself in the round of dancing, cards and conversation.

  * * *

  Betsy tried to keep an eye on Edward, but it appeared he already had connections in town. She felt his gaze on her more than once, and a few times he got close enough to converse before being once more drawn away when someone asked about India. When Angella was in sight, she watched Edward’s eyes narrow and she tensed. Surely, he would not make a scene, not tonight, not at Angella and Spensor’s engagement ball. As it happened in their infrequent interactions, Edward was halted or drawn away. She did not care for it on her behalf, but she breathed relief when the interest in India kept him from approaching Angella.

  Betsy had to admit the man was all that was fashionable in a finely tailored black jacket, contrasting waistcoat, pantaloons and low-heeled shoes.

  It discomfited her when Baron Fritton escorted her onto the dance floor and stuttered his interest until his manner irritated her to distraction. The marquis’s manner suited her little better. He was not used to rejection and pulled her out into the garden to talk some sense into her. He was well situated, he told her, and could offer her a place in society. His insistence only forced her to bite her lip as she tried firmly, yet politely enough, to calm his ardor. All she wanted to do was be with Edward and, she admitted, to ensure he did not make a cake of himself.

  It surprised Betsy that neither Angella nor the earl recognized Edward. After all, he was Angella’s brother. Still and all, the room was large and filled with people, and she had not seen him for years. Edward’s features had sharpened over the years and his body had grown lean and hard. To her, Edward was everything a man should be and her heartbeat quickened as once more she caught his eye. She smiled. He only seemed stunned.

  Sometime later Betsy found Angella beside her. “Oh, Angella, congratulations,” she told her friend, giving her a quick hug. “I hope tonight is all that is wonderful for you.”

  Betsy followed Angella’s gaze toward Spensor. “God is blessing me with my heart’s desire. It is all a dream, a wonderful dream.”

  “You deser
ve it. Enjoy to the fullest.”

  Angella nodded toward Edward, who was mostly hidden behind a portly gentleman and his equally proportioned spouse. “You seem to have made a conquest in the serious gentleman.”

  Betsy blushed, not sure how to go on. She grimaced when Angella continued. “He seems to hold me in low esteem, though. When he glances my way, he seems so angry.” Angella paused. “He seems familiar somehow, but I never can get close enough to get a good look at him. You know him, I take it.”

  Betsy cleared her throat, frantically wondering what to say. “Uh, he is a clergyman. He spoke at the mission.”

  “I see.” From the confusion on her face, it appeared that Angella still had questions.

  Betsy took her arm and steered her back to Spensor. “I’m sure you’ll meet him before the night is over.”

  “I’m sure you are correct...and yet...”

  Betsy sighed with relief as Spensor escorted Angella away toward another couple.

  The affair was a sad crush. Betsy didn’t care. Trying to keep Edward in sight and away from Angella was exhausting. At one point she determined to pull him aside to see what he planned to do, but her mother intervened to ask for her help.

  She kept an eye on Angella, as well. As the hours crawled by, Angella’s shoulders sagged. Everyone but Edward made it a point to stop and wish Angella and Lucashire their best. Even her friend’s smile drooped and Betsy wondered if Angella’s lips stuck to her teeth.

  It was nearly dawn before the last of the guests made their way to the door. Still Edward stayed on. Betsy sensed an explosion in the making and prayed.

  She also savored Edward’s touch on her hand, the look in his gaze that made the room feel overly warm and the request he made to see her later. Could there possibly be something more in his request?

  * * *

  Edward found it more and more difficult not to confront his sister. However, to his surprise, the event provided a perfect chance to speak of his work in India, from those who had already heard him speak and others who showed interest. He also seemed unable to stay away from Betsy, who glowed in her white gown with silver trim. He felt as though he walked on water whenever Betsy smiled at him and offered her hand. Edward could not let her go. “I...I need to speak with you,” he managed to stutter. “Do...do you think you might make time for me?”