Sinfully Ever After (Book Club Belles Society)

by Jayne Fresina

  Rebecca Boadicea Sherringham was not a woman to be vanquished.

  She would take stock of the situation and then assess the best course of action.

  Firstly, Lucky Luke could not seriously be contemplating marriage. Last night he’d warned her most adamantly that he was not a marrying man. But now he did this out of a foolish idea of having compromised her reputation.

  Secondly, had she not told him already that she handled her own problems?

  “I’m sorry,” Becky announced to the gathered ladies, “but there has been a mistake. I am not going to marry the colonel. What you saw last night, Mrs. Kenton, was this man…fixing my boot lace.”

  The woman’s eyes widened. “Boot lace?”

  There followed a short, awkward silence, and then Lucky Luke laughed. “My dear, you are the very limit. Stop teasing your friends.”

  Justina looked forlornly at her but could not quite keep the twinkle of mischief out of her eyes, while Diana demurely lowered her lashes and gracefully raised a fan to hide her mouth. The colonel laughed even louder and then seized her by the arm, steering her quickly off to a corner of the drawing room.

  “Let me get you another glass of punch, my sweet.”

  * * *

  “Boot lace? Boot lace? That was the best you could come up with?”

  “Marginally better than a hasty engagement, don’t you think?” she snapped up at him, eyes firing angry hot sparks. “I had only moments to find an excuse and you had almost a full day, since you were privy to certain facts unknown to me, Colonel!”

  She was getting herself all agitated, Luke observed calmly, noting the quivering pearls in her ears, the heightened color spreading over the pleasant curves of her bosom, and the empty punch cup swinging wildly from her fingers.

  “This is all your fault,” she muttered.

  “I beg to differ. You’re the one who insisted I kiss you. I would have left without that. I was trying to be a gentleman and strike the debt.”

  “A gentleman?” she scoffed. “The debt was your idea in the first place, and you said you came here to claim it.”

  “Well, that—”

  “And I did not give you permission to kiss me…in that way.”

  “Forgive me, but I didn’t hear you try to stop me. In fact, as I recall, you rather demanded that I continue.”

  “What I do in my kitchen is my business. Augusta Kenton’s spying is her responsibility. As my father would say, if she chooses to pry into other folks’ business, she ought to be prepared for what she might see.”

  Forget the idea of a pretty woman sprinkling the flowers at his grave with lovelorn sobs, he mused, remembering the image that had come into his mind last night; she’d probably be shouting at his corpse for dying without her permission.

  “Now I insist you tell them there is no engagement.”

  He pressed a hand to his thigh and grimaced. “Ouch. Bloody wound! Takes my breath away sometimes.”

  She made no sympathetic move toward him but waited, her lips pursed.

  “I warned you, Miss Sherringham! I’m the very worst sort of man to let into your life, into your home, but you wouldn’t pay heed. Now see what happened, eh? I’m doing this for your own good, young lady.”

  “Well, don’t keep doing it, old man. I didn’t ask you to. Oh, why did you have to come here? You and your big…feet!”

  He looked down, puzzled. “My feet?”

  She merely shook her head as if it was not worth her breath to explain.

  Luke knew they were being watched by the other ladies and gentlemen, who tried to understand what was going on. Her father was the only person not looking; instead the wily major took advantage of the general distraction by refilling his punch cup to the brim and pocketing several mince pies.

  Keeping a smile on his face for the benefit of those who watched, Luke addressed her carefully, in a low voice. “What else was I supposed to do when that gimlet-eyed, bacon-faced woman caught us in the act? Within moments of her arrival tonight, she was regaling the entire room with a detailed description of what she saw through your window. She couldn’t have painted you any more scarlet had she a brush and a bucket of blood with which to do it. I didn’t want to be accused of ruining the reputation of yet another young lady. I had to act, for your sake.”

  “You needn’t have bothered. You, sir, are the very opposite of everything I expect in a husband, and if you think this is your duty now out of some ridiculous, misplaced sense of—”

  “It is my duty. I mean to do the proper thing. I came home to make amends, not cause more scandal. I’ve done enough of that in my life.”

  Looking up into his face, she appeared to consider this for a moment, seeking the truth in every feature, every line and scar. For the first time in his life, he could look a woman in the eye without having to act, a part, because he had not lied to her. She was unique in that sense.

  He knew that he had to say something when the parson’s wife began telling a story of what she’d seen through the Sherringhams’ kitchen window. While his brother watched him with a peregrine’s steely eye, Luke had to make a hasty decision. His behavior was once again in danger of bringing scandal to the family, just when he wanted to make recompense. So he acted on the spur of the moment and told them all that he was going to marry Gingersnap. He’d sort out the details later. Of course.

  The rich luster of her hazel eyes drew him in, and then he was spinning around, trying to catch the little gold specks of dust that lived there.

  “For a military man, you crumpled remarkably quickly under Mrs. Kenton’s barrage of cannon fire,” she muttered. “No one takes that windbag seriously.” Her expression was bold and determined again, just as it was when she confronted him in a tavern five years ago. “Besides, you’re much too old for me,” she added firmly. “You’re nearing forty, for pity’s sake. At that age, you are horribly set in your ways and have no business considering marriage for the first time. A bachelor who has avoided it this long is not fit for that sort of companionship and would be better off with a nursemaid. No offense meant.”

  “Splendid. I’ll try not to take any.” Luke scowled. “You’re much too young for me anyway. And damned noisy. Not to mention quarrelsome and demanding.”

  Her eyes flared again. “Pardon me for having an opinion.”

  “You’re a woman.” He swung his cane and laughed. “You don’t need to clutter up your little head with an opinion. That’s why we men are here, to make the important decisions. You stick to bonnets and…and…boot laces.”

  She glared, her eyes simmering, the gold dust caught in a desert windstorm. “You’re a villain who is not to be trusted. You admitted it freely.”

  He leaned down to her. “And you’re likely to shoot at me one day.”

  “No doubt you’d give me plenty of reason to do so.”

  “Ha! You strike me as the sort who wouldn’t require much provocation.”

  “So, as you see,” she snapped, “marriage is out of the question between us. Utterly unnecessary and would doubtless end in tragedy for anyone within five miles.”

  She thought she had it all sewn up, but he wouldn’t argue with her any further. As he’d warned her once before, he didn’t discuss business with a bit of petticoat. “Just don’t think you’ll get another kiss like that from me until our wedding night,” he muttered.

  That silenced the ungrateful wench, mid-stitch. With that, he turned sharply and limped away from her. Perhaps he limped a little worse than normal. Wouldn’t hurt to play on her sympathy, would it?

  Eleven

  Becky would have gone home at once, but her father was enjoying himself too much to leave. Again she reminded herself not to fret. No one could force her up the aisle. No one could kidnap her and make her marry the colonel. These were not the dark ages and she was not living in a gothic novel.
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br />   She glanced over at Diana Makepiece and thought of what that young lady would do in these circumstances. Diana’s feathers were never ruffled, and no matter what happened, she always retained her dignity.

  Becky, therefore, would do the same as she set about refuting his horrendous lie.

  One by one, the party guests approached to give their opinion on the supposed engagement. Her father, having conversed briefly with the colonel, told her that he thought it was a “very good jape.” He already liked Lucky Luke, of course, and thought nothing of this unseemly haste.

  “Yes, indeed, Papa, it is a merry jape of the colonel’s, but that is all it is. I am not going to marry him.”

  Still he laughed. “The fellow apologized for not seeking my permission, m’dear, but goodness, I am only happy to finally have you off my hands, as I told him.”

  “Papa, there is no engagement.”

  “But you invited this one to dinner. You did not chase him off with a blunderbuss like the last poor fellow. Surely that is a good sign, m’dear.”

  “Papa, that was a bow and arrow.” She added hastily, “And it was an accident.”

  The smile did not leave his face or even waver. “We shall have a rum cake and a large party.”

  Any excuse for a party, she thought grimly. “But you need me. How could I marry anyone and leave you?”

  “Good heavens, you must not think of staying just for me. You must go and look after the colonel now, as you have looked after me all these years. I cannot afford to keep you fed and clothed forever, you know.” He patted her arm and grinned gleefully. “He seems to like you, and it would be selfish of me to keep you all to myself much longer. You’re almost an old maid. I have told him now that he may have you, and I cannot go back on my word. He didn’t even ask for a dowry, m’dear. How can I pass up such a bargain?”

  She was still soothing her wounds from that when Mrs. Penny, Justina’s mother, rushed across the room and exclaimed merrily, “My dear Rebecca, so you have finally caught yourself a man! How clever of you to surprise us all. You’ve always been rather too strong and opinionated, but I knew there must be a man somewhere for you. One who would not mind your brusque, forward ways. What a relief it must be for you. I daresay you were anxious not to be left behind as the friends around you are all snapped up.”

  “Not at all, Mrs. Penny. I am resolved to live a happy, untroubled life as an old maid. And he’s not going to stop me.”

  A moment later, Mrs. Makepiece joined them and shockingly pronounced Colonel Wainwright to be “Quite the gentleman. Very polite and gallant. He impressed me very much. A fine, charming fellow.”

  Becky stared at the lady. “Are you quite well, madam?”

  “Of course.” Struggling to permit herself a smile, the usually dour woman added, “I must congratulate you on your conquest, however it came about.” She exchanged a knowing glance with Mrs. Penny. “I’m sure you will both know every happiness.”

  “Although he is much older than she is,” the other lady pointed out, discussing Becky as if she weren’t standing there before them.

  “Still, I daresay he will bring her behavior under a firmer hand,” said Mrs. Makepiece. “He doesn’t seem the sort to tolerate a wayward bride, and Rebecca has not had much discipline in her life. It will do her good.”

  “I am not engaged to him,” Becky exclaimed hotly, “whatever he tells you. It may try the bounds of your belief, but I am not so desperate!” She began to think she was dreaming this after all. Or else she was a ghost that no one could see or hear.

  Indeed the ladies looked at her blankly as if she hadn’t spoken. Then Mrs. Penny, distracted by the arrival of a molded jelly just placed on the sideboard, had the opportunity to boast about the exceptional talents of her daughter’s new chef, a man brought from Mr. Wainwright’s Mayfair house.

  Becky’s predicament was temporarily forgotten while the ladies discussed the merits of molded puddings and French chefs.

  Next came Darius Wainwright, approaching cautiously to offer his congratulations. Becky tempered her response carefully.

  “Thank you, but I fear it was a misunderstanding that led the colonel to think we’re engaged.”

  “Ah.” His dark eyes simmered with hidden thoughts. “I might have known. Another of his practical jokes, amusing to no one but himself. What has he done to you?”

  “Done to me?” Alarmed, she glanced over at Mrs. Kenton, but the lady was trailing around the room after a limping Lucky Luke, her lips moving all the while, as rapidly as her feet. Her victim looked as if he wished he had something to swat her with. “He has not done anything to me, sir, I assure you.”

  But Darius Wainwright stared at her, his face mournful as a month of wet wash-day Mondays. He must know the sort of trouble his brother was capable of causing.

  Finally came poor little Sarah, expressing such genuine warmth and excitement at the idea of a newfound father and stepmother that Becky’s heart pinched when she had to let the girl down. It would be crueler, she thought, to lie and pretend all is well. So she was straightforward as usual. “I’m sorry, Sarah, but I am not marrying the colonel. It was naught but a misunderstanding.”

  “How could that be? He seems certain.”

  “Yes, Sarah. I have found that men are never so certain about anything as they are when they cling to a mistaken idea.”

  “How very odd.”

  “Men frequently are.”

  Sarah frowned. “Do women never make mistakes?”

  “Occasionally. The difference is that we learn from ours. Men never like to admit they’re wrong and therefore they cannot learn from experience. We become more sensible as we mature. Men often become many degrees more juvenile and harebrained.”

  They both looked over to where Mrs. Kenton had the colonel trapped, commanding his attention with her blithely intrusive questions. She was eager to let him know she had a connection with his family, for she considered herself a close friend of his stepsister, Viscountess Waltham. It was a subject they were all sick of hearing about. When Becky stole a glance at his face, it was clear from Lucky Luke’s expression that he was bored of it too, despite the fact that he’d only just met Mrs. Kenton. “Lady Waltham told me you were quite the scoundrel in your youth, Colonel!” The parson’s wife shook her finger at him, her loud voice seizing the attention of everyone in the room.

  “In my youth, I was many things, madam. I have put those days behind me now. Excuse me.” He screwed up his face as if in great pain and took a step away from her.

  But he could not escape Mrs. Kenton. She moved with him and almost got swiped across the leg by his cane as he swerved.

  Becky remembered how he once claimed never to answer questions from women. No wonder this forced, studied politeness sat upon him tonight with as much ease as his borrowed clothes.

  “You fought with the Dragoons, Colonel?” Mrs. Kenton demanded. “In India? Is that so?”

  He grunted a reply before swiftly finishing his glass of punch and not giving the slightest encouragement to Mrs. Kenton’s conversation—not that she needed any.

  Like a lame, frustrated tiger caged in an exhibit, he bided his time, waiting for freedom again, observing his audience with wary eyes and letting out the occasional menacing grumble. Becky didn’t believe for a minute that this reform he mentioned was true. Certainly it could not last. They might have dressed him up for display tonight, but the skin of his knuckles was still rough. He could not hide that, and apparently his brother had no gloves to fit him.

  Diana now sat at the pianoforte and began to play, her skilled fingers leaping across the keys in a valiant attempt to obscure Mrs. Kenton’s voice.

  “The colonel says he met you in Brighton, Miss Sherringham,” said little Sarah suddenly. “I have been here a month and you never mentioned it.”

  “I did not know who he was then.
Your father kept his identity a secret.”

  Your father. Her tongue felt thick as it stumbled over those words. Lucky Luke had a daughter, and she was only six years younger than Becky. In another year or two, he could even be a grandfather, for pity’s sake. There was another fact exposed like a raw nerve in a tooth.

  A man with a daughter that age should not kiss the way he did. Good God. She melted again, just thinking about the way he’d—

  “I should rescue the colonel from Mrs. Kenton,” said Sarah, still looking confused.

  “Yes, I think you had better. His leg seems to be troubling him excessively.”

  When Sarah called out for Ness, the ugly mutt ambled out from beneath the pianoforte, looking extremely sorry for himself. Like his master, Ness was all dressed up this evening, bathed and combed, a large bow of plaid taffeta decorating his collar.

  Sarah took him over to the colonel, where Ness immediately began to sniff and growl at Mrs. Kenton’s skirt, becoming so insistent that the lady’s conversation kept getting cut off as she turned in circles, protesting with as much merriment as she could maintain. Becky heard the colonel mutter nonchalantly that he thought his dog was interested in her perfume.

  “It does smell a little like a Yorkshire hot pot, madam,” he added.

  Flustered, Mrs. Kenton protested that it was a perfume she distilled herself. “Everybody always wants to know how I make it. It is a perfume much admired.”

  “My dog certainly appreciates it.”

  But after a few more wailing protests from the lady, and clearly having amused himself long enough, Lucky Luke whistled sharply and Ness sat back on his haunches, releasing Mrs. Kenton from his lusty attention. The lady beat a rapid retreat, backing away from the dog until she had reached Becky by the sofa.

  “Lucius Wainwright may claim to be a changed man, but he was once an utter rake for whom no stone of debauchery was left unturned.” She stared hard at Becky. “It would do you a service, young lady, to let you know the trouble you’re taking on.”