She nodded and gave his arm a little squeeze. “I understand. I…I hope everything is well.”
At that moment, there was almost nothing he wanted more than to take her in his arms and hold her close. To absorb all the sympathy she radiated. He’d never wanted such a thing from a woman and to want it from the enemy was preposterous. But wanted it, he did.
“Please accept my apologies. I must make haste.” He turned to the footman and knocked into someone carrying glasses of wine. One took a tumble and splashed on the front of Miss Larkin’s dress. He muttered a curse. “Chloe, damnation. I’m a clumsy fool.”
He tugged out a handkerchief and dabbed at the spill on her chest. She batted his hand away. “Go. I can deal with this.”
Brook nodded and left her with the handkerchief. Damn it all. He should never have done this. He should never have come to the ball. If he had been at his father’s side…
Instead, he had been enjoying himself with Miss Larkin. He only hoped his father never found out.
If he lived, of course.
His father would never forgive him for it.
Chapter Seven
Chloe tilted her head one way, then the other. It was no good, the stain would be there forever. The laundry maid had not been able to remove it and though Chloe had attempted it herself, the stain from the wine that Brook spilled would not budge. She flung the dress aside and landed on her bed in a heap.
She rubbed her dry eyes. The ball had ended late but even then she had not been able to settle. Her mind whirled over all the things that had happened last night. Though she could not say what she expected to happen at the ball, none of it had been anticipated.
For goodness sakes, she had danced with a Waverley. She was not even sure why she said yes to him only that she could not seem to deny him. She had never been one for finding men in eveningwear appealing and yet Brook had been devastating in his breeches and finely fitted waistcoat.
Chloe threw herself back on the bed, flinging her arms wide. She landed so her pillows formed a cocoon around her. She flipped around and buried her head into the pillows. What was wrong with her? Why was she wasting so much mental space on Brook Waverley? She could be doing something interesting and important, like finishing her cataloguing of the mythology section in the library or even preparing for Augusta and Joanna to arrive. Neither of them had been able to attend the ball last night but Joanna promised that they would visit this afternoon.
She supposed one of the benefits of having a widow for a friend was Joanna could play escort to them at any time. Of course, she and Augusta would far rather Joanna’s husband was alive. But, as Joanna said, they had to make the best of a bad situation.
Which is what she was doing now, was she not? Making the best of a bad situation? Here she was considering Mr. Waverley in his eveningwear when, for all she knew, his father could be dead. It was highly unlikely her family would find out about it any time soon so she was left to just wonder. What was he going through? There was a small part of her—no, a rather large part of her—that wished she could be there for him. She had never seen Mr. Waverley look so vulnerable in his life and the way he said her name…Gosh it rendered her heart still and painful even now.
She had almost thought he might want to fall into her arms that night. If he felt about his father anything like she felt about hers, he would be devastated should anything happen to him.
She rose from the bed and rubbed a hand over her face. There was little she could do about it right now. Perhaps she would go down to the border as he had suggested and leave him a note.
She stood swiftly. Yes, that was an excellent idea. She could do it before Augusta and Joanna arrived and then check tomorrow if there had been any response. She highly doubted there would be. If the house was in mourning, Mr. Waverley would be going nowhere and even if his father was yet alive, she imagined he would not wish to leave his side. But perhaps, just perhaps Mr Waverley would wish to get some air and see her encouraging note. It was not much, but it was all she could do.
Chloe hastened down the stairs but before she could reach the drawing room to pen a note, her father blocked her entrance. She glanced up at his sour expression. “Whatever is the matter, Papa?”
“I’m surprised you do not know.” Her father crossed his arms over his broad chest.
“Papa?”
“Your mother told me not to say anything but it cannot be ignored. You danced with Waverley last night.”
“I…I was only being polite. Mother is always telling me to dance more. I would have thought you would have been pleased.”
His moustache bristled. “There is no need to be polite to Waverley. You danced with the enemy, Chloe. How do you think that looks?”
“The enemy?” Chloe shook her head. “This is ridiculous, Papa. It was a mere dance with a gentleman.”
“You know full well that the Waverley boy is no gentleman. I might not read the gossip columns like you and your mother do but I am fully aware of his reputation. Do you realize that people were talking of you two last night? There were murmurings of…marriage,” he hissed.
“Marriage?” A rush of cold spread through her. She had only danced with him for goodness sakes. And people knew well of the disagreement between the families. Why would anyone speak of marriage?
“You are of age, Chloe. It is no surprise that anyone you dance with might be assumed to be special to you.” His bushy brows lifted. “He is not special to you, is he?”
“I danced with him. Nothing more. How on earth can he be special to me?” Her heart raced. She was a terrible liar and she was certain her father could see through her. Would he know that she had spent time with Mr. Waverley outside of the ball? Alone?
“If I had known he would have been there, we would never have attended. Let us be grateful that his father was not there or else I would have had to have dragged you away and that truly would have been impolite.”
“Father, there is really no need—”
“I never want to hear of you spending time with him again, is that clear?” he demanded.
Chloe searched her father’s stern gaze. It was rare he scolded her, especially now that she was a grown woman but he was utterly serious.
“Chloe?” he prompted.
She nodded solemnly. She could not bring herself to say the words out loud. If Mr. Waverley’s father was indeed dead, everything would change anyway. But, there was some small part of her that could not bring herself to promise such a thing. More than anything, she hoped to see him again.
“Where are you off to anyway?”
“I – I was just,um, going to check on the border,” she said, aware her voice was turning a little shrill.
“Good. Excellent. I’m glad you are not shirking your duties.” Before he could say anything further, Chloe retrieved her coat and gloves and thrust a hat on her head. She hastened out of the house and moved at pace to the border.
Slowing as she reached the border fence, she closed her eyes briefly. In her haste to leave she had not even written the letter. What a fool she was. This whole situation was becoming a disaster. What was she thinking, imagining they could repair the relationship between their fathers? And why was she thinking she could work with Mr. Waverley of all people? He was too handsome, too charming. Not that she wanted to admit that to herself, however, there was no avoiding the matter. She had actually…enjoyed herself last night. She had never enjoyed a ball in her life before.
As she turned around, her gaze caught on a slip of white jammed into a crack in the fence. Surely he had not had time to get a letter to her already? Was he not attending his father’s bedside?
Glancing around and feeling ridiculous—for who on earth would be out there spying on her?—she snatched the letter and held it close as she peeled it open. She had never seen Mr. Waverley’s handwriting before but the letter looked rushed.
Her heart gave a little stutter at the words. Meet me at midnight.
She stuffed t
he letter in the pocket of her pelisse and hurried back to the house, her cheeks feeling hot against the cool air outside. She needed to get control of herself before her friends arrived. After all, there was nothing sordid about their meeting. Likely he wanted to update her about his father and perhaps arrange further plans. She had to believe his father was recovering or else he would not be taking the time to leave a letter for her so soon.
So, it was all practically business. Nothing for her to get hot and flustered about.
Even once Augusta and Grace had arrived, heat seemed to linger in her face. She had slipped the letter from her pocket and tucked it into the bodice of her stays. It seemed as safe a place as any but it made her all too aware of Mr. Waverley’s words next to her skin—as though he was somehow touching her.
Joanna gave her a pointed look as they sat down in the drawing room. “Are you quite well, Chloe? You look a little flushed.”
“Oh yes.” Chloe nodded vigorously. “Quite well. I…I am just a little tired after the ball last night.”
“Oh yes, this ball. How did it go?” Joanna asked. “Did you find a library to hide away in?”
“I am not at all sorry I missed out on it.” Augusta took a sip of tea. “But I am sorry we were not there for you.”
Chloe waved a hand. “Oh, I managed quite well. I even…well, I even danced once.”
Augusta choked on her tea. She lowered the cup while Joanna patted her on the back. “You danced?”
Chloe nodded and wondered if she should not have said a word. These were her friends and keeping secrets from them did not sit well but talking of Mr. Waverley made her feel strange and squishy inside.
“Only once,” she repeated. “It was for good reason too.”
“Was it a handsome man who asked you?” Joanna pressed.
“No. Well, yes. But there was another reason.”
Augusta leaned forward. “And are you going to tell us that reason?”
Chloe drew in a long breath and held it for a moment. Why was this so hard? They would understand why she was doing what she was doing. The whole reason she was friends with these two was because they were the least judgmental women she had ever met. They would not be scandalized or tell others of her meetings with Brook.
“It was with Mr. Brook Waverley,” she said simply.
“As in the Waverleys with whom your family has a long-standing disagreement?” Joanna’s dark eyebrow lifted.
“As in Mr. Brook Waverley, the man you ran away from not so long ago?” Augusta asked.
Sighing, Chloe reached for a slice of fruit cake and took a bite. She was not really hungry, especially for such a rich cake but she needed a moment to gather herself.
“One and the same,” she said after she finished her mouthful. “We have a plan, you see.”
“A plan?” Joanna echoed.
“Indeed.” Chloe swiftly swiped any crumbs from the corners of her mouth. “We wish to put an end to the argument between our fathers.”
Augusta leaned forward. “Exactly whose idea was this?”
“Well, it was Mr. Waverley’s,” Chloe admitted.
Joanna and Augusta shared a look. Chloe frowned. “What is it?”
“Well, we could not help but notice how he looked at you in the bookshop.” Joanna shrugged.
Chloe looked to Augusta who gave a sheepish smile. “Joanna is not wrong.”
“She most certainly is wrong,” protested Chloe. “Mr. Brook Waverley has never looked at me with anything but disdain. However, we have decided, for the sake of our families, we must work together.”
“And dance together,” Augusta said with a smile.
“It was merely so we could talk on what to do.,” Chloe said primly.
“He is very handsome.” Augusta took a nonchalant sip of tea.
Joanna gave a nod of agreement. “And interested in Chloe, I believe.”
“His interest begins and ends at fixing the arguments between our family. Nothing more.” Chloe lifted her chin. She could not believe her friends thought otherwise. Did they not see a man like Mr. Waverley would never be interested in her? He could have any woman in the world, why would he want of bookish country girl?
And, why on earth did she want to believe that might be true?
Chapter Eight
As he shut the door, Brook pressed a hand to the knot coiled at the top of his spine. He pushed back his shoulders and winced. Really, he should be going to bed but he doubted he would sleep tonight any more than he did last night. He imagined his mother, who was remaining at his father’s bedside, wasn’t getting any rest either. Though his father was doing much better, he was frail—frailer than he’d ever seen him before. Brook shuddered. He never wanted to see him like that again.
He looked at the large grandfather clock that stood at the end of the hallway. He had fifteen minutes to get to the border. He would have to make haste or else leave Miss Larkin waiting. Of course, he need not have left her a letter so soon. He doubted she was expecting one and had little idea if she had been to the border today. But he needed to see her.
Because of his father, of course. He had no doubt the strain of this ongoing argument had caused his father’s heart attack.
It had nothing to do with wanting to see that smile again. Nothing to do with how he felt strange and empty when he was not in her company. All of that was likely a symptom of having been away from London society for too long, that was all.
Brook walked quickly to the border. There was no way he could ride—he’d had to have disturbed someone and then explained why he was heading out at midnight. The assumption would have been he was off on some assignation—which he was—but not the sort people would assume. The last thing he wanted was for Miss Larkin to get wrapped up in some sort of scandal.
A strange tightness lingered in his throat when he spotted the ghostly outline of her not far from the fence. She had come. He felt the demand of a smile pull at the corners of his lips. It would be the first smile he had issued all day but he wasn’t certain he should be smiling at such a time, so he tamped down the temptation.
She, however, offered one herself. It was hesitant, just curving her full, tempting lips. Behind her eyes, even in the dark, he saw sympathy shining.
“You came,” he said as she reached the gate, cursing himself at such an obvious statement.
“Well—” she began at the same time.
Brook paused and motioned for her to continue. Though it was a dark night, Miss Larkin had brought a lantern with her and propped it up on one of the posts. The golden light softened her features and enhanced the red in her hair. Miss Chloe Larkin had never been a traditional beauty and if one analysed her features separately, one would certainly find them wanting in the eyes of many. To him, tonight, she was beautiful.
He closed his eyes briefly. He might want to put an end to this argument between the families, but he did not need to be feeling any…softness toward Miss Larkin. Once they had mended this breach, she would go back to her books and he to London. One night of dancing together did not cancel out their differences, even without the rift between their families.
“How are you? How is your father?” she rushed out.
Aware of the fence dividing them, Brook moved forward to lean his elbows on the wood. He stared briefly out into the darkness, tracing the faint outline of the land ahead of him—land that according to his family was enemy territory. How ridiculous it all seemed that these expanses of fields and wildflowers should be seen as anything other than what they were.
“He is well.” He hesitated. “As well as can be expected, at least. He is in recovery and is very frail.”
She mimicked him, propping her elbows up on the fence and looking sideways at him. “I am glad to hear he is in recovery, though.”
Brook gave a small smile. Her words were genuine even though she really had no reason to offer him such sympathies. They might have joined forces and enjoyed a dance together, but they were far from friends
. He had little interest in the argument between the Larkins and Waverleys but he’d never had any interest in Chloe either.
Until now.
But his interest was purely for his father’s sake, he reminded himself.
“It gave us all quite a scare,” he admitted. “It is always hard to see your parents ageing.”
Miss Larkin nodded. “Yes, it is a terrifying thing. I should imagine you—”
“Which is why I think we should push forward with our plans.”
“Oh, I was rather thinking you might just want to stop and spend time with your father.”
“He shall need some time to rest but the stress of this disagreement is too much for him. Even this morning he was fretting over the border. We need to put an end to this as soon as we can.”
Biting down on her lip, she gave him an uncertain look. “My father is already angry that I spent time with you when we danced. It will not be easy.”
“I’m sorry that he is angry with you. Needless to say, last night did not go as I planned.”
“It was certainly different to any other ball I have attended.” She commented.
“That is probably because you were actually dancing rather than hiding away somewhere,” he said dryly.
“Books are far more interesting than people. I still maintain that.”
Brook chuckled. “Even more interesting than present company?” He leaned over the fence a little to close the gap between them. “And here I thought you might have enjoyed dancing with me.”
She twined her hands together and looked at them. “Well, it was…um…quite enjoyable. I mean, it was satisfactory. Certainly not the worst ball I have ever attended.”
“Satisfactory? What high praise,” he said with a tilted smile.
He was willing to bet that had it not been for the dark light he would be able to see her blush. She chewed on her bottom lip again.
“Yes, well, anyway, back to the matter at hand. What should we do about our fathers?” she said brusquely.
“Do you have any plans for the next few weeks?”
She shook her head.
Married to the Rake (The Wallflower Brides Book 1) Page 5