Smirke 01 - An Unlikely Hero

by Cari Hislop

  “I dreamt about you last night Mr Smirke.”

  John filled his mouth with another biscuit and brushed the flower off her forehead. “Did you?”

  “Yes, I dreamt that we were eating peaches in the garden at Bolingbroke, on the bench near the beehives, and you were saying the funniest thing when a marble bust of Wellington fell out of the sky and nearly squashed us, but you picked me up and carried me to safety. I don’t know why Wellington would want to flatten us, maybe it’s because Agnes said he doesn’t like you.”

  “You’ve got flour up your nose.”

  She rubbed her nose on her floured sleeve. “Is that better?”

  “Almost, where did you learn how to cook?”

  “School…Mrs Bridewell, the head mistress, sent me to the kitchen every time she was upset with me. I spent a lot of time in the kitchen, but Cook was very kind. He was a French Lord who escaped the guillotine. He used to tell me Mrs Bridewell was a vache who was jealous of my beauté. He offered Father three hundred pounds to marry me you know. He was very kind, but he had a big nose. Thankfully Father refused him. I think it would have been more exciting to have my head cut off in front of a roaring blood thirsty crowd than cook for fifty people until I dropped dead.”

  “You’d have missed your pretty head.”

  “I’d have missed having all these adventures. It was so exciting to see a play with real actors. I couldn’t hear the first Act because these horrid men kept throwing oranges at the players and screaming at other boxes, but Agnes asked James to go speak with them. Your brother must be very influential…”

  “He probably threatened to unleash Agnes.”

  “Whatever he said, they stopped immediately. Agnes reprimanded me for suggesting we throw oranges at their box. She said it would be rude, even if you were one of the party. Agnes doesn’t like you…is that a new coat? You’re looking very beautiful today. You must have slept well, what did you dream about?”

  “Do not under any circumstance tell me I’m beautiful.”

  “But you are…”

  “I know, but it’s highly improper. Do as you’re told and…”

  “I won’t tell you you’re beautiful if it makes you upset, but…”

  “And never ever ask a man what he’s dreamt.”

  “Even if he’s my husband?”

  “I’m not your husband.”

  “You’re practically a husband. The only thing you don’t do is…”

  “I know exactly what I don’t do Miss Lark, now go change into something sober before I lose my temper.” John congratulated himself on retaining a languid posture as he leaned against the kitchen table. His muscles were taut with the horrible desire to put his arm around her waist and kiss the pink lips twisted in agony.

  “Please don’t send me away Mr Smirke.” Flour covered hands took hold of his collar. “I’ll be good. I won’t tell you I think you’re beautiful or that you’re almost a husband.”

  “Be in the hall dressed for long exposure to the cold in half an hour. I don’t like waiting and I don’t like hysterics.”

  “How am I supposed to pack and change in half an hour?”

  “Go change!” John waited till she’d rushed from the room in tears before addressing the kitchen, “Put Miss Lark’s biscuits on a tray and put them in my room and let me know how much I owe my brother for the ingredients.”

  “All of them Sir? Miss Lark made at least…”

  “Get on with it. My brother doesn’t pay you to dither.” John kindly didn’t scream at the servants to move quicker and returned to his room to change. He needed a long freezing walk to cool frustrated passions, but he couldn’t leave the impressionable Joan behind. His brother might try to carry the silly chit off to Gretna Green. The last thing he wanted to do was challenge his brother to a duel. John could see potential temptations that might arise from keeping the girl on a short leash, but they weren’t as uncomfortable as the thought of leaving her behind unguarded.

  He found her waiting in the hall wearing serviceable black from her bonnet to her boots. John felt a twinge of remorse as she tried to hide her sniffles. “Take my arm Miss Lark. You don’t want to slip on the ice; if you fall over I’ll have to drag you home by your heels. Are you going to open the door Frederick or stand there twiddling your cravat?”

  “Where’s the carriage?” The two carefully made their way down the icy stone steps.

  “I didn’t say you were travelling today.”

  “But I thought you said…”

  “Perhaps you shouldn’t think my dear.” John could see her frowning out of the corner of his eyes. After a hundred yards of silence, John started to relax until he realise his ward was glaring at him. “What?”

  “You could have told me we were going for a walk. I hate this dress. I look like last year’s scarecrow. I hope people look at us and think you’re a shabby husband too cheap to buy your wife a decent walking dress. That will serve you for making me think you were taking me home.”

  “I’m not your husband.”

  “That man over there doesn’t know it.”

  “Lord Orlando doesn’t know his expensive Mistress pleasures half of England for free. A man who calls every woman Beth because he’s too stupid to remember their real name is unlikely to notice your hideous dress.” They walked on in silence for twenty minutes. He was completely unprepared for her next question.

  “What sort of pleasure does a Mistress give?”

  “That is not an appropriate question for a young lady. Forget I mentioned the subject.”

  “Does she do things like the naked ladies in your paintings at Bolingbroke?”

  “Do you intentionally ignore what I ask you to do? I told you it’s not an appropriate subject end of discussion.” They walked on for another ten minutes allowing John time to think he’d finally been obeyed.

  “Do you have one?”

  “One what?”

  “Do you have a Mistress?”

  “No, and you’ll never ask me that question again.”

  “Even if you became my husband?”

  “I’m never going to be your husband so there’s never going to be a need to wonder where I take my pleasure. I will not discuss the subject and that’s final.”

  “Your housekeeper says you blackmail virgins into your bed. If you were my husband I wouldn’t share you with anyone, I’d claw out your eyes…”

  “Enough! I don’t want to hear you say the word husband for at least another year. Do I make myself clear?”

  “As clear as a consort Mr Smirke.”

  John stopped abruptly and pulled his ward around and forced her to look into angry black eyes. “I won’t endure contempt from a snivelling dependent. What are you crying for?”

  “I wouldn’t be crying if you didn’t make me feel like a repulsive old maid.”

  “What the blazes are you talking about? I never said you were repulsive…”

  “You say the word husband as if it’s some sort of vile purgatory when connected with me and yesterday you said you wouldn’t marry me if I was the last English speaking woman in the world in front of your family. I was so angry I nearly stomped on your foot. Horrid man, you’d make an awful husband anyway…sniff…I don’t want to be your wife any more.” The black brim lowered hiding her tears leaving John to roll his eyes and silently beg God for patience. “Sniff. I don’t care if you’re the man of my dreams, I’m going to marry an ugly stinking Inn keeper and serve watered down beer and tell all our patrons that my old guardian, Mr John Smirke of Bolingbroke, thought I looked like a pig and they’ll all think you mad. Sniff.”

  John forcibly tipped back her bonnet and glared into wet eyes. “If you’re trying to make me lose my temper Miss Lark, you are succeeding. I haven’t been this angry since I was killed.”

  “That’s all you think about. You! You! You! Send me back to Bolingbroke, send me anywhere. Sniff. I don’t care. Sniff. You’ll never love me because you’re heartless. I’ll die pining fo
r you stinking of beer and unwashed linen.”

  “I’m in no mood for a tantrum. Pull yourself together!” Several curious men walked by sniggering in amusement. John clenched his teeth, “Stop acting like some ill-treated baggage and dry your eyes.” His heart kicked him in the ribs as the black bonnet tipped back revealing large cornflowers shimmering with tears. “You’re not supposed to fall in love with me. Society considers me your substitute…parent.” John’s voice cracked as he spoke the hateful word.

  “Who cares what the world thinks? Who is the world anyway? When I look at you I feel like I’m in a magical painting. I wish you’d take me in your arms like the hero in that play and kiss me.”

  Longing set him on fire making it difficult to resist the temptation to put his arm around her waist and duly kiss her. “Merciful heavens…”

  “Am I so awful?” John forcefully looked at the sky and tried to control his emotions. “Why can’t you let yourself love me a little? I know you want to. I’d be a good wife. I’d never do anything to make you ashamed of me…not on purpose…and I could make you biscuits…”

  “The street is not the place to discuss delicate matters.”

  “You mean you don’t want to discuss it. You want to bury me in Lincolnshire while you find an heiress allergic to the truth. Well, if your brother asks me, I’ll marry him just to spite you. I’ll be a Viscountess and your wife will have to curtsey to me. That’ll teach you for snubbing my kind loving heart.”

  John’s heart dashed against his ribs like a soft boiled egg. Self control evaporated as he stamped his foot and waved his arms in painful rage. “You’ll never marry into my family; not my brother, not my nephew, not my cousin’s cousin. You’ll go back to Bolingbroke and stay there ‘til I find an Inn keeper too stupid to realise that you’re a maddening thankless chit!” Her quivering lower lip was accentuated by a long indrawn shuddered gasp. John’s heart was whipped into egg custard as she burst into tears. “Oh no…don’t cry Miss Lark…please don’t sob like that…it makes me feel awful.”

  “You heartless villain; I wouldn’t marry you if you lost an arm and an eye and told me you were Horatio Nelson.” She twisted to evade his grasp, but John took possession of her wrist and turned back towards his brother’s house as the cold wind stung his heart, making his eyes water.

  Lord Mulgrave watched in dumbfounded amusement from the other side of the street as his enemy loudly lost all sense of decorum. The news was everywhere; Smirke had been saddled with the obnoxious Reverend Lark’s even more obnoxious daughter. She had to be the severest antidote to marriage ever born if the desperate John Smirke refused to wed her. Mulgrave smiled as a cunning plan rolled out in his head like the perfect summer lawn. If he couldn’t kill the smirking swine, he’d ensure the pretty man suffered a life long dose of hell. He rubbed his hands with glee. John Smirke was going to weep like a baby.

  John pulled his ward all the way home, up the stairs past curious servants and into her bedchamber. He pushed the crying woman inside and followed closing the door with a firm click. Taking off his hat, he tapped it against his leg as he stared at the back of an ugly black bonnet and narrow slumped shoulders. “I’m sorry I hurt your feelings…” Her reply was a shuddered breath as she wiped her tears on a sleeve. “…you made me lose my temper.” He waited several seconds, but there was no sign of forgiveness as his custard heart started to curdle from neglect. “I shouldn’t have shouted at you in the street…” John scowled as she mumbled in agreement. “I am your guardian not some pathetic unwanted lover Miss Lark. Turn around and abuse me to my face if you wish to sneer at my apology.”

  “I don’t want to look at you ever again.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  “Loving you is ridiculous, you horrid beast…go away!”

  John blinked in shock as the room spun in uncomfortable circles. “You can’t possibly be in love with me.”

  She whipped round to face him. “So, you’re an expert on women’s hearts as well as civilized behaviour? Well press your lips to my aching heart and tell it, it doesn’t want to be held in your arms. Tell it, it isn’t happy to see you enter a room. Tell it, it doesn’t long to be loved by you. Maybe it’ll listen to you; it certainly doesn’t listen to me. Nothing anyone has said against you or anything you’ve done has made one bit of difference. This stupid heart loves you and there’s nothing I can do about it. I don’t want to marry your brother. I’m not partial to tall men with curly black hair, I want you.” John found his balance as his custard heart was steamed by the heat of euphoria. “Don’t find me a husband. I’d rather return to Bolingbroke and pretend that the picture of you will come to life and love me.”

  John sighed with intoxicating relief. “I spoke in anger Miss Lark. I was the drunken fool who agreed to be responsible for you. I’m not going to throw you into the arms of some stinking Innkeeper. I don’t know what’s come over me. I…” An unseen knuckle wrapped the other side of the door.

  “Are you unwell Miss Lark? Do you n-need Agnes?” John bit back a curse on nosey big brothers as the knuckle wrapped again. “Is John in there?”

  “Yes I’m in here and she’s perfectly unharmed in every kind of way. Go away, I’m allowed to speak with my ward in private.”

  The door creaked open and Peter stuck his head into the room. “Not in her bedchamber old man. Not unless she’s d-d-dying. Are you dying Miss Lark?”

  “I’m in perfect health my Lord.”

  “That’s a relief. Is something wrong John? You look d-d-dazed.”

  John dismissed his brother with an irritated glance, “If you wish to return to Bolingbroke Miss Lark I’ll order the carriage, but I’m afraid you’ll be forced to endure my company.” John relaxed as Miss Lark smiled at him in adoration, her anger forgotten. “Change into something more colourful and throw away that ugly bonnet. I’ll take you shopping this afternoon and buy you a pretty one. Until then I pray you’ll excuse me.” John made a reverent bow towards his ward, pushed past his brother and closed the door confident he’d return to find her still single. John put his hat back on and headed downstairs shadowed by his brother Peter.

  “Where have you two b-been?”

  “Walking.”

  “You’re g-going to exhaust yourself. You n-need to rest. Someone tried to k-k-kill you, remember?”

  “They did kill me and I don’t need a nursemaid.”

  “No, you n-need a wife. Whatever happened to the Bloomswater chit?”

  “If you mention Lady Harriet or her wretched family in my hearing ever again I’ll change my will and leave everything to Lucius.” John rubbed his wounded shoulder as memories of Lady Harriet Bloomswater deluged his brain in pain.

  “P-perhaps this next year’s batch of d-d-debutante’s will produce the one eh? I could help. What sort of woman are you looking for? Do you want a black haired Amazon or a b-brunette pocket Venus?”

  “It’s none of your business what kind of woman I prefer.”

  “I bet you d-d-don’t even know what you want.”

  “I know what I want.” A mental image of the woman he’d left upstairs unrolled revealing an unpainted masterpiece.

  “I d-doubt you even know what colour of hair you p-prefer.”

  “Leave me alone, I’m not well.”

  “It’s a p-pity you can’t marry Cousin Mildred’s fifty thousand p-pounds.”

  “Marry Mildred yourself.”

  “The last t-time we visited she eyed me up as a p-possible husband and in Cecil’s hearing mentioned that she d-didn’t want to d-die an old maid. Cecil b-being his helpful self, b-butt into the conversation and told her he’d heard there was a one armed b-blind man who was desperate to court her. I’ve b-been since informed that she’d rather d-die an old maid than marrying a Smirke, with or without a head.”