They both looked at her—Charles bemused, still smiling, and Elizabeth utterly expressionless. “And for what prize?”
“Nothing but boasting rights, I’m afraid. The honor of winning.” Their expressions remained unchanged. “We all meet afterward at my father’s house for hot chocolate,” she added hastily. “It has become a tradition.”
“How lovely,” Charles exclaimed. “Don’t you think so, Eliza? Hot chocolate, indeed!”
His sister merely sighed and patted her nose once more with the bundled handkerchief.
“Count us in,” Charles added, leaning across the carriage like a man imparting urgent information. “We must take part in all your games. I can think of no better way to spend the season than a jolly good hunt.”
But his sister’s pale eyes held no warmth and continued to regard Becky above that handkerchief through a watery mist of condescension.
When they arrived in the village, she was let out at the carpenter’s shop, where she apprised Sam Hardacre of the accident on the turnpike road. Then, although it was only a short distance around the common from the woodshop to her father’s house, Charles Clarendon insisted on taking her in the carriage and dropping her at the gate.
As she stepped down from the fine carriage, assisted by Mr. Clarendon’s hand, a number of passing villagers took note. That will give them something else about which to gossip, she thought. Perhaps it would distract them from Lucky Luke for a while at least.
She thanked Charles and had just lifted the latch of the garden gate when she noted fresh footprints in the slush along the path. Prints larger than her own. They were almost washed away by the rain, but a few remained clear. Her father must have had a visitor that morning, for he would not have gone out in this bleak weather, surely. She’d given him strict instructions to stay by his fire. And he had no reason to go out in any case. If he needed anything, he knew she would fetch it for him.
Could it be her brother returned for Christmas?
A few moments later, she entered the house in great excitement, expecting to hear Nathaniel’s voice, but she found only her father in the parlor, his imagination caught by a story in the newspaper. “Look at this, Becky. A man by the name of Wolfgang von Kempelen has invented a mechanical chess player. An automaton that can beat anyone at the game, so they say. Is that not a remarkable thing indeed?”
She gave the story only a quick glance. “Hmmm. I’ve no doubt there is a living, breathing man inside it.”
“But they say not. They say it is a miracle of science.”
“You may depend upon it, Papa, there is some trick behind it. There always is.”
He shook his head, pouting. “I am saddened, m’dear, by your failure to appreciate the ingenious marvels of the world. To open your mind to things beyond your experience. Can you not even believe for a little while in magic?”
“You believe in magic if it makes you happy.” It did no harm, she mused, as long as he had her there to handle the practical matters. Someone had to keep their feet on the ground.
She thought of Lucky Luke’s accusation that she treated her father like her own child. That she “hid” herself from life and used her family as an excuse to do so. Ha! What did he know about families anyway? He’d abandoned his for a dozen years. If he thought he could come along and lecture her like another Mrs. Kenton, he was in for a surprise.
As she tossed another shovel of coals on the fire, Becky watched the sparks spit and sizzle at her feet, remembering what it had felt like to fly recklessly along the road in that gig while he carelessly threw back his head and laughed. That was what marriage would be like to him, she mused darkly.
She still hadn’t got her pulse back to its usual pace.
Seventeen
Luke returned to the manor shortly before dinner. He reunited in the stables with Ness, who had apparently enjoyed a warm nap there all afternoon. After giving the horse a good rubdown, he found his brother in the drawing room alone. The ladies were still dressing.
“What happened to you?” Darius exclaimed upon seeing the state of his clothes and wet hair.
“Slight problem with your unsteady gig, Handles. Worry not. The wheelwright came out to fix it.” He gave a wry grin. “I would have ordered a bath in my room, but that would be two baths in as many nights and I’m afraid of washing my excess of manliness all off.”
“I hope you got some measurements taken for new clothes.” Darius eyed his filthy riding boots. “And there is a tack room in which to clean those, you know.”
“I didn’t want to miss dinner,” he replied, limping to the fire with Ness close on his heels. “As far as new clothes, I’ll ride to Manderson after Christmas. That’s the nearest town, so I hear.”
There was a slight pause. “You are staying, Lucius? It is your intention?”
“Of course.” But somehow the idea of getting measured for clothes reminded him of being measured for a coffin. He couldn’t face it yet.
“It’s just that you seem a little…distracted. And this business with Miss Sherringham…my wife tells me the young lady is adamant that she has not accepted you. Neither does she have any plans to do so in the future.”
Ness stretched out by the fender, gave a loud yawn before expelling some unpleasant gas, and then sighed contentedly, twitching his stump just once before closing his eyes again. Sometimes Luke wished he could exchange lives with his dog. It would certainly be less complicated. “Miss Sherringham is confused about what she wants. As often happens with women.”
Darius moved rapidly away from the dog’s odor and found a sweeter spot by the sideboard. He offered his brother a sherry, and while it was poured, Luke searched for a harmless subject—there seemed to be too few of those between him and his brother. Finally his gaze fell to examining two framed sketches above the mantel, one of Darius and the other of the new Mrs. Wainwright. “Very good likenesses,” he said, taking the sherry glass he was offered.
“Sarah drew them. She’s quite clever with her sketches and painting.”
“So I see. She definitely captured you both.”
Darius nodded. “I remember you used to have a talent for portraiture, Lucius. I suppose Sarah got that from you.”
“Hmm.” Luke waved that off. “I made a few naughty cartoons of some of my least favorite people, that’s all.” Talking about his supposed daughter made him uneasy.
“When you set your mind to it, you drew very well. And they weren’t always done in jest.”
He changed the subject, bringing the focus back on his brother. “I must confess, I was surprised to find you married, Handles.”
“No doubt.” Darius smiled in his careful, reserved way. “It took me by no less surprise.”
Amused, Luke asked him how it had come about.
“I really couldn’t say,” Darius admitted, scratching the side of his nose with one finger—a shy gesture Luke remembered from years ago. “It was happening before I knew it had begun, and then there was no stopping it.”
“But you don’t regret it—giving up your bachelor status? Your liberty?”
Darius looked perplexed. “Of course not. Why would I?”
“Come, little brother, you always viewed matrimony with the same jaded eye as me.”
“Did I? I was hesitant to let unknown, uncertain factors into my life, into my heart, perhaps.”
“After what happened with Dora, that is understandable.” He didn’t look at his brother’s face, fearing what he might see there. Darius was silent. “I’m sorry,” Luke added quietly. “You didn’t want me to mention the name.”
As if he hadn’t spoken, his brother said, “I might have been cautious, but your reason for avoiding matrimony certainly could not have been the same as mine. I’ve never known you to use prudence in your life, Lucius.”
“I don’t think I know a Prudence, do I?”
/> “Yes, still an amusing joke, despite the cobwebs!” His brother shook his head. “Well, now you have set your sights upon Miss Sherringham. Are you sure you are ready to give up your liberty? It is nothing to be lightly undertaken, this matrimony business. I’m sure you have yet to work out those details that you always save until the last minute.”
Luke thought of her sitting beside him in the tight space of the gig and how it calmed his spirit, made him content. But then he also thought of her beating at him with her bonnet before walking away on the arm of the Clarendon boy, her demeanor completely changed.
“Miss Sherringham has very strong opinions,” his brother continued in a slow, careful tone, “and she is not timid about expressing them. She has an independent spirit and—as my wife tells me—she also keeps a very long list of attributes required in a husband.” He paused, felt his waistcoat buttons with a twitchy hand, and then added, “I only say this to warn you, Lucius. As your brother, I feel it incumbent upon me to… I would not like to see you make an ass of yourself by pursuing a woman who has no interest. I know how you can be like a bull in a potter’s shop when you have your mind set upon something.” Turning away quickly, Darius strode back to the fire, grabbed the poker, and thrust it into the coals, stirring up the flames. Apparently brotherly concern had, for once, outdone the more usual desire to maintain a guarded distance and keep certain thoughts to himself. Had his wife urged him to give this warning?
Now Luke’s leg hurt again. He limped to a chair and sat. It was his turn to avoid a subject. Or, at least, to slip slyly around it, while keeping the matter in his side vision. “I heard there is some connection in this village with the Clarendons.”
“The Clarendons?” Darius skillfully flipped a fallen coal back into the fire. Tidy as ever, Luke mused.
“Yes. They have relatives here?”
“I believe so.” Then he looked over his shoulder. “Of course, you and the elder Clarendon boy—Christopher—got into a brawl.” Darius’s eyes widened as he remembered. “He threatened to bring suit against you for attacking him. Claimed you cost him a few teeth.”
“Did I?” Luke grunted, sitting back in the chair. “Good. It would be just like him to fight back with a lawsuit and his father’s money instead of his own fists. Bloody coward.”
“Well, I hope you stay away from that sort of trouble now that you’re returned.”
Luke laughed bitterly. “You don’t think I can behave myself either, eh?”
“Remember you have a daughter now who watches your every move and does not deserve the burden of bad gossip caused by a father who cannot control his anger.”
How ironic, thought Luke, knocking back the last of his sherry. After a lifetime of avoiding responsibilities, he now assumed one that belonged to someone else—to a man he despised. Meanwhile he’d have to hold his temper if he encountered the careless fraud who was really responsible for her conception and abandonment. Darius was right; Sarah was an innocent and must be protected. He would not want her falling into Kit Clarendon’s hands. Luke may not be the ideal father himself, but he’d do a damn sight better than Kit Clarendon.
“Remember how Great-Uncle Phineas claimed there was treasure hidden somewhere on this property?” Luke muttered, staring at his muddy boots as he stretched them out in front of him, resting his heels on the fender.
“Yes, I remember. I’m surprised that you do though.”
“Ever find any?”
Darius snorted. “Not the material kind. Is that what you came here for?”
“Just curious. Old houses like this—hidden doors and passages—you never know.”
His brother looked amused.
“What? You’re telling me you never wondered? Never went hunting for that treasure, Handles?”
“Oh, I found all the treasure I wanted.” Darius smiled, looking over at the little portrait of his wife.
Luke exhaled a low huff. His brother’s brain was well and truly pickled by love, it seemed. Surprising any emotion ever found a way inside that carefully regulated brain. He swept a speck of dried mud briskly from his thigh. “I was wondering today how our lives might have turned out had our childhood been different.”
“In what way? You mean if you had not been so spoiled and doted upon by our mama, that you feel guilty letting another woman into your heart?”
Luke stared, the sherry burning his throat all the way down. “What?”
“You were her favorite, Lucius. You could do no wrong in her eyes.”
“Ridiculous!” He angrily shifted about in the chair, trying to get his leg comfortable. No doubt his brother got this idiocy from one of those books he studied. “If anyone had a favorite, it was our father. And the sun shone out of your behind as far as he was concerned.”
“Nonsense!” Darius scoffed, poking the fire with renewed energy. “I simply did as I was told and studied hard. I didn’t cause him any headaches the way you did.”
“And I had no hope of pleasing the old man even if I tried, since there was no possible way I could compete with you, Master Perfect.”
“At least he gave me some attention,” Darius exclaimed crossly. “Our mother was always too busy showering you with her adoration to notice me.” His voice had now risen to a hitherto unheard of pitch as he swung the poker. “And she was only the first of a long line of females besotted with you, of course. I may as well not have been in the room when you were there. I was inadequate and superfluous in every way.”
“You exaggerate!”
“Do I? Remember Annabelle Chawley’s coming out? She burst into tears because you didn’t go. When Mama pushed me forward to dance with her in your place, the wretched girl took one look at me and cried even harder. She took to her bed for weeks and everyone thought it was my fault. Then there was Lady Rampton, the lusty widow with the beauty mark on her ample cleavage. After you threw her over, she took my first edition of Marlowe’s Massacre at Paris and threw it from the library window, aiming at your head, whereupon it bounced, landed in the fountain, and was irreparably ruined.”
“I offered to pay for the damage.”
Shoulders tense, his brother hissed. “It was priceless!”
“How could it be priceless? You paid for it. Or Father bought it for you, no doubt. Bloody books!”
Darius continued, “Then came Maria Prestwick, to whom you had me write love letters on your behalf, supposedly because my hand was neater and my spelling legible.”
“Don’t remember.”
“No, of course not. When you went off Miss Prestwick, you decided it would be the height of hilarity to add a few extra words to the letters yourself and then tell her they came from me. She took them to show her mama, who was ready to have me pilloried for the suggestions they contained, even though I didn’t know what half of them meant.”
“Did she? The minx!”
“I later discovered they were all appallingly misspelled, by the way. But still recognizable as your handiwork, thanks to your manner of writing exactly as you speak.”
Luke tapped his boot toe with his cane. “Are we going to relive the past now, then? I thought you didn’t want to look back?”
“And let us not forget Miss Jane Ponsonby. Does that name ring any bells, Lucius? She’s the young lady who, while in quick pursuit of you, actually pushed me to my hands and knees and trod upon me.”
“Well, someone had to help her into the curricle, and the step was broken.” Luke shrugged. “I thought you were being your usual dutiful self.”
There was a pause. Abruptly Darius leaned his head on his arm as it rested on the mantel. Luke rubbed his hand over one knee, not sure what to say next.
But then he saw that his brother was trembling. Suddenly Darius exploded with a gale of laughter. It was croaky, breathless, echoing around the room, making Ness look up, ears pricked.
“Poor Handl
es,” Luke muttered tentatively. “It must have been hard growing up with a brother like me, eh? Almost as trying as it was for me to put up with your grim, disapproving face.”
Darius put the poker back on its hook. “Yes, it bloody well was.” Eventually he turned and Luke saw that his brother was pressing his lips together, trying to stop the laughter.
“I was a pain in the arse, eh?”
“You still are.”
Luke grinned. “Can’t all be as good and clever as you, can we? See, it’s for the best that you take the inheritance. You’ll make better use of it than me. I’ll spend it all on crates of apricots and pet monkeys or something.”
“I told you, Lucius, it’s rightfully yours. And I won’t hear another word about it.”
The argument continued in a gentle ebb and flow, but laughter had cleared the air somewhat. When the ladies arrived soon after, they all went in to dinner.
* * *
Sarah and his sister-in-law expressed concern that Luke might have caught a cold in the rain that day. He assured them he was fine and never caught colds.
“Just like Darius,” Justina exclaimed, eyes shining. “My dear husband never caught a cold until he came here, did you, darling?”
Darius looked down at his plate and shook his head. She laughed, a gentle, tinkling sound that suggested she had more to tell on that subject but would drop it for now. The newlyweds exchanged a coy glance and Luke winced. There was nothing worse than being in the way when two people were in love. He was happy for his brother, certainly, but did their affection have to be exhibited before him every half hour?
There were two subjects sure to bore Luke to tears at a dinner table; one was that endless and pointless speculation about the weather, which some people seemed to enjoy, and the other was gossip about love affairs—who was courting whom, who flirted with whom, and whose heart was lately broken. Lovers could be the most tiresome dinner companions of all.
Sinfully Ever After (Book Club Belles Society) Page 17