The Rise and Fall of Reginald Everheart

by Victoria Alexander

  He cleared his throat. “Good morning, Miss Middleworth.”

  “Good morning, Mr. Shepard,” she said coolly, refusing to look up at him. “You’re blocking my light.”

  “Sorry.” He stepped aside but did not leave.

  “Is there something else?”

  “Well, yes, actually, there is but... I say, Miss Middleworth.” Exasperation sounded in his voice. “This is not easy under the best of circumstances but would you please do me the courtesy of looking at me when I speak to you? It’s most disconcerting to be talking to the top of your head.”

  “Very well, Mr. Shepard.” She set down her pencil, folded her hands together on the table and looked at him. He appeared at once repentant and determined, charming and irresistible. It was all she could do not to leap to her feet and fling herself into his arms. But that would surely be a mistake and probably horribly humiliating and embarrassing, not to mention improper. Still, it was tempting. “What did you wish to say?”

  “I have been giving our recent discussions a great deal of thought.”

  “As have I.”

  “And I believe an apology might well be in order.”

  And then you can toss me on the table and have your way with me. She tried to ignore the thought but he was so endearingly sincere. “I cannot disagree with that.”

  “I have considered exactly what to say in such an apology over and over since we last spoke. Indeed, I have thought of little else.”

  “Then perhaps you should just say it and be done with it.” And then you might wish to kiss my hand, and that sensitive spot on the inside of my wrist and then pull me into your arms... She drew a calming breath. “It’s not that difficult is it?”

  “It’s far harder that I had imagined.” He thought for a moment then squared his broad shoulders and met her gaze directly. “Miss Middleworth, I do feel I overstepped the bounds of our, well, our friendship. I had no right to express my opinion on any man you might consider marrying, even one I feel is unworthy of you. And I do regret any upset I might have caused you.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Shepard.”

  “My father believes an apology that is not sincere is worse than no apology at all, therefore—” he shook his head “—I cannot—I will not—apologize for my words although I am sorry I cannot do so.”

  She stared. “What?”

  “I think I was perfectly clear,” he said in a lofty manner.

  She rose to her feet. “Did you just say you were sorry for not apologizing to me?”

  “I believe that’s exactly what I said.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “And even though you admit you had no right to do so, that you overstepped, you are not apologizing for that?”

  “Apparently not. I had planned to, however...” His jaw tightened. “It would be wrong of me to do so.”

  “Because you are not sincere?”

  “Exactly.”

  “I thought we agreed that an apology was in order?”

  “I have reconsidered. Upon further consideration, I cannot apologize for something—” he braced his hands on the table and leaned toward her “—that I would do again.”

  “Would you indeed?” She set her own hands on the table, leaned forward and glared.

  “Oh, I would, Miss Middleworth, I absolutely would.” Resolve gleamed in his gray eyes.

  “That’s extremely presumptuous of you.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “There’s no perhaps about it.” She narrowed her eyes.

  “Why, Mr. Shepard?”

  “Why would I do it again?”

  “Or in the first place.” She shrugged. “Your choice.”

  “Someone needed to. If I were to see a total stranger about to step off a cliff, I would consider it my duty to try to stop him.”

  “I see. Then I was nothing more than a moral obligation.”

  “No.” His brows drew together. “That’s not at all what I meant.”

  “What did you mean?”

  “As I said, someone needed to say something as apparently no one else was.”

  “And you took it upon yourself.”

  “I did.”

  She studied him. “Surely you have a better reason than that.”

  “I believe you deserve better than Mr. Drummond.”

  “Do I?”

  “You deserve someone who would cherish you for the brilliant, talented woman that you are. Someone who would see you as more than a...a means to an end. A stepping stone as it were.”

  “And do you have someone in mind, Mr. Shepard?” She leaned closer and stared into his eyes. “Because if you do, I would very much like his name.”

  “Come now, Miss Middleworth. I am well aware there is someone with whom your affections already lie.”

  She frowned. “What on earth are you talking about?”

  “You said it yourself. That you refused Mr. Drummond because you feared your affections lay elsewhere.”

  Dulcie stared. Obviously the silly man didn’t realize she was talking about him. And why would he? She had done no more to show her interest in him than he had in her. If indeed he had any interest in her. But it did seem if he didn’t, he would have no particular problem apologizing. Still, it was up to him to do something, although it certainly wouldn’t hurt to let him know he was mistaken about some unknown man engaging her affections.

  This was her opportunity to confess her feelings. If she was wrong this would be dreadfully humiliating. But if she was right...if she were right, it was worth the risk of dire embarrassment. She drew a deep breath. “Mr. Shepard, about that—”

  “No.” He shook his head. “It’s really none of my concern and I should probably not intrude any further into your personal affairs.”

  “Oh?” Her brows shot upward. “You were willing to intrude when it involved a man you did not think worthy of me but when you don’t know who the man might be, you are more than willing to let me walk off that cliff?”

  “I thought we agreed I had already been presumptuous and—”

  “What I think you are, Mr. Shepard, is a coward.”

  His mouth dropped opened and he straightened. “I was willing to overlook your calling me a coward given that you were upset but I will not—”

  “Good day, Dulcie.” Poppy’s voice rang out over the library and at once Michael took a step back. “And Mr. Shepard. I’m so glad you’re here. Could you carry something in for us?” Poppy beamed from the doorway, flanked by Mrs. Higginbotham and Lady Blodgett.

  “Of course.” He leaned toward Dulcie and lowered his voice. “And now I believe, Miss Middleworth, you owe me an apology.”

  “Why, Mr. Shepard?” She cast him her most charming smile. “As I would most certainly say it again.”

  He shot her an annoyed glare then headed for Poppy and the other ladies.

  The man was completely infuriating. He not only intruded into areas he had no right to be but then he refused to apologize for his actions. It would be one thing, and quite forgivable, if he did indeed have feelings for her and something else entirely if he was just an arrogant ass who thought he knew what was best for everyone. No, in spite of her own feelings for him, she’d had quite enough. Why, even if he were to turn around right now, yank her into his arms and kiss her quite thoroughly until she melted into a puddle of unimagined bliss and the older ladies had to fan themselves with the heat of it, she would still not wish to have anything further to do with him. Probably.

  Michael disappeared into the corridor with the ladies and a few minutes later reappeared carrying a crate, perhaps two feet square. In spite of its size it did appear heavy.

  Poppy skirted around him and indicated the table next to Dulcie’s. “Set it right here if you will.”

 
“It was mistakenly delivered to my house rather than here,” Lady Blodgett added. “Careful, please, it is fragile.”

  Nonetheless, there was a bit of a thunk when Michael set the crate on the table.

  “Now then, Mr. Shepard.” Mrs. Higginbotham handed him a short iron pry bar. One did wonder how she came by it. “If you would be so kind as to remove the top.”

  “Very well.” Caution sounded in his voice. He took the tool and began prying off top of the crate.

  The wood screamed and Lady Blodgett winced. “Do be careful, Mr. Shepard.” She cast the oddest look at Mrs. Higginbotham, almost accusatory in nature. “We didn’t realize it was secured quite so well.”

  “One would hate for anything to happen to it,” Mrs. Higginbotham murmured then paused. “Whatever it might be, that is.”

  “What it is is a delightful surprise,” Poppy said firmly.

  “What kind of surprise?” Dulcie studied Poppy cautiously. She had the distinct impression these ladies were up to something.

  “You’ll see.” The older lady’s eyes twinkled.

  Michael finally removed the top. The crate was filled with wood shavings.

  “Do go on, Mr. Shepard.” Lady Blodgett waved at the box then glanced at Dulcie. “Isn’t this exciting?”

  “You don’t know what it is?” Dulcie asked.

  “Not specifically but we do know who it’s from.” Poppy beamed.

  “Do you plan to share that with us?” Michael dug into the crate, pulling out fistful after fistful of shavings. Dust caught the light and danced in the air around him.

  “Certainly.” Poppy glanced at her friends who nodded in encouragement. “It’s an artifact being loaned to the club for a special exhibit to accompany a lecture being given by a man who is very nearly a legend.” She paused in an overly dramatic manner. “The extraordinary explorer and adventurer Mr. Reginald Everheart.”

  Michael paused, shavings in either hand. “Who?”

  Lady Blodgett gasped in horror. “Surely you have heard of Reginald Everheart? Why Reginald Everheart has ventured beyond the boundaries of civilization in all corners of the world.”

  “And you call yourself an explorer,” Mrs. Higginbotham said disdainfully.

  “Why, even I have heard of Reginald Everheart,” Dulcie added with a superior smirk. Admittedly, it was something of a lie although the name did sound vaguely familiar. At least it was an excellent name for an explorer.

  Michael’s brow furrowed. “No, I don’t think—”

  “Well, he is American,” Poppy said in a blithe manner. “Which unfortunately means he cannot be a full member here but I believe he is an honorary member.”

  “And quite fond of the Explorers Club,” Lady Blodgett added. “Brothers-in-arms and all. And his mother was English.”

  “As is his wife,” Mrs. Higginbotham said.

  “But she’s dead,” Poppy blurted.

  “I forgot.” Mrs. Higginbotham winced. “It was a very long time ago. Lost in a jungle I believe...”

  Dulcie stared. “Really?”

  “One would think someone so extraordinary would not be so careless as to misplace a wife in a jungle,” Michael said under his breath.

  “We don’t know him as well as our husbands do. They hold him in the highest regard,” Lady Blodgett said in a confidential manner.

  “Although we have each met him on occasion.” Poppy heaved an adoring sigh. “He is the very picture of a heroic adventurer.”

  “Tall.” Lady Blodgett nodded. “With the most extraordinary blue eyes and blond hair.”

  “Exceptionally handsome.” Mrs. Higginbotham smiled. “Really a fine figure of a man.”

  “And so dashing. Why, there’s an air of excitement about him that is very nearly irresistible.” Poppy shivered with ill-concealed delight. “Perhaps the most charming gentleman I have ever met.”

  Michael paused and glanced at Dulcie. “And have you met this explorer of legendary proportions?”

  “No, but I would certainly like to meet him. He sounds quite remarkable.” She thought for a moment. “I wonder if Father knows him?”

  “He’s not in England often,” Lady Blodgett said quickly. “This is a rare visit for him.”

  Michael hesitated. “As you mentioned your father, Miss Middleworth, I should perhaps—”

  “I think I see something.” Poppy leaned around Michael and peered into the crate. “Do pull it out, Mr. Shepard.”

  “Very well.” Michael plunged his hands into the shaving-filled crate and slowly drew out a wool-wrapped object. He placed it carefully on the table then pulled off the wrapping to reveal a dark granite figure.

  It appeared to be a seated baboon, his hands resting on knees spread apart to reveal... Heat washed up Dulcie’s face yet she couldn’t seem to tear her gaze away. It was really quite...impressive.

  Michael cleared his throat. “Ladies, I don’t think—”

  “Poppy.” Lady Blodgett glared at her friend. “This was not the—”

  “It’s an ancient artifact, for goodness’ sake.” Effie huffed in exasperation, stepped forward and stuffed a large, lace trimmed handkerchief between the baboon’s legs, which tended to emphasize rather than detract. “There.” She nodded. “That should take care of that.”

  “Hardly.” Michael frowned. “What are we to do with it?”

  “We are not going to do anything with it,” Lady Blodgett said. “Miss Middleworth is.”

  Dulcie started. “What am I to do with it?”

  “The exhibit isn’t for several months but it was thought an excellent idea to produce a program as quickly as possible illustrating some of the artifacts to be displayed.” Poppy cast Dulcie a brilliant smile. “And you will be the illustrator. Mr. Everheart requested you himself.”

  Michael’s frown deepened. “Why would he ask for her?”

  Dulcie glared. “Thank you, Mr. Shepard.”

  “She comes highly recommended.” Lady Blodgett smiled at Dulcie.

  “She’s very good, Mr. Shepard,” Mrs. Higginbotham said in a chastising manner. “You sit in the same room with her day after day. I’m surprised you don’t know that.”

  “I am well aware of Miss Middleworth’s talents,” he said staunchly and promptly changed the subject. “Do you know what that is?” He waved at the statue.

  “I would say it’s a rather enthusiastic baboon.” Mrs. Higginbotham’s eyes widened with innocence.

  Lady Blodgett sighed. “Some sort of Egyptian god, I believe.”

  “That, ladies, is Babi,” Michael began. “He was not a particularly pleasant sort, called Master of Darkness, among other names. He devoured the souls of the unrighteous and was worshipped for a number of things including—” he paused, unease on his face “—virility.”

  “Oh, that explains it then,” Poppy murmured.

  “And while the ancient Egyptians may have revered this creature and his excesses, it’s highly improper for Miss Middleworth to draw it.” Michael huffed. “She absolutely cannot do this.”

  “I can, Mr. Shepard.” Dulcie glared. “And I intend to. I am a professional illustrator and I assure you I am not so delicate as to faint away at the sight of something carved thousands of years ago regardless of how realistic it may appear.”

  “Nonetheless, Miss Middleworth, you can see this is not something a respectable woman should do.” He squared his shoulders. “It’s scandalous, Miss Middleworth, that’s what it is. Scandalous.”

  “I did not expect him to be quite so narrow-minded,” Mrs. Higginbotham said under her breath.

  “Are you telling me what I can and cannot do?” Dulcie narrowed her eyes. “Again?”

  “Someone has to if you are too stubborn to see having anything to do with a statue like this would be de
trimental to your reputation and your future.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “The cliff, Miss Middleworth, is perilously close to your toes.”

  “Neither my reputation nor my future nor my toes are any of your concern,” she said sharply.

  “Come now, Mr. Shepard,” Mrs. Higginbotham said firmly. “It’s an ancient deity. What we consider improper now was simply part of the world then. Surely this sort of thing is to be expected and tolerated given the historic nature of the artifact. And here.” She grabbed the statue and swiveled it to the right. “If she draws him from an angle, or the side perhaps, one won’t see the more indiscreet portions of the sculpture.”

  “I can’t imagine any proper gentleman suggesting a young woman do such a thing,” he said staunchly. “Which makes me question the wisdom of this Mr. Everheart.”

  “Oh, he’s quite brilliant,” Lady Blodgett said.

  Mrs. Higginbotham nodded. “And unquestionably courageous.”

  “And extremely handsome,” Poppy added. Then, as one, all three woman heaved heartfelt sighs and adopted the most absurd expressions of adoration.

  “Apparently, my opinion counts for nothing,” Michael muttered.

  “Should it count for something, Mr. Shepard?” Lady Blodgett asked. “It seems to me, you are simply an observer here. Unless of course, you and Miss Middleworth—”

  “Absolutely not!” he said.

  “Never,” she snapped, which was more a reaction to his absolutely not than any true feeling on her part. Although, at the moment, with him once again telling her what she could and could not do, she did rather mean it.

  “Besides, her affections lie with someone else.”

  “Actually, they don’t.” Dulcie smirked.

  “They don’t?” Suspicion sounded in his voice.

  “No.”

  “But you said...” Confusion drew his brows together. “Never mind. Ladies, if you will excuse me, I have work to resume.” He nodded, turned on his heel and marched back to his desk, the very picture of righteous British manhood.

  Was the man really incensed about a woman drawing a likeness of an explicit and highly improper ancient statue or was he annoyed that Dulcie was the woman doing that drawing? Regardless, as much as she wasn’t sure if she wished to have anything whatsoever to do with Michael ever again, it was an interesting and extremely satisfying idea.