by Nina Mason
He was right, of course. For had not Mr. Willoughby done as much to Col. Brandon’s ward in Sense and Sensibility? Still, she could not believe the Captain—her reluctant white knight—was as unprincipled as other men—or half as heartless as her father and Charles. For his avoidance of her until now and his present refusal to ravish her were proof enough of his decency.
“Your resistance does you credit, Captain,” she said stiffly, “and makes me ashamed of my own behavior. I fear I have lost your good opinion, perhaps forever.”
“Have no fear on that score, Miss Bennet. For I think as well of you as when I entered the room. I also see the position you are in and how desperately you wish to escape it. You are like an animal caught in a trap who would chew off her own leg to win her freedom.”
“You are right,” she said sullenly. “That is exactly how I feel, though I would not equate going to bed with you with gnawing off a limb.”
He laughed. “I am exceedingly relieved to hear it.”
She pulled up her legs, wrapped her arms around her shins, and set her chin atop her knees. From this posture, she regarded him contemplatively. Her attraction to him was genuine, even if her motives were less than honorable. “I cannot imagine any woman in her right mind finding you undesirable.”
“You flatter me. For I assure you, the reverse is the case.”
“Are you speaking now of your former fiancée?”
He visibly stiffened. “It is possible that I am.”
“Well, in my opinion, she did you a good turn by giving you up.”
With a scoff, he lifted his gaze to meet hers. “You call breaking my heart a good turn?”
“I do,” she said, “because you deserve better than a lady who would abandon you in your hour of need…or make shockingly unfeeling remarks to a man who’s sustained an injury as grievous as yours.”
Rather than pleased, he looked annoyed. “What else has my sister told you about me?”
“Only enough to convince me that foolish tart did not deserve you.”
Light—nay, fire—vivified his eyes. “You do not find me repulsive, then?”
She blushed and looked down at the bedclothes. “How can you ask me such a question? Did I not just invite you into my bed?”
“You did, Madam,” he said with all the stiff formality of an officer, “though without having seen my scars.”
She lifted her gaze to his, seeing for the first time the frightened boy behind the hard screens covering his eyes. “I have seen some of your scars already, Captain, and only like you the more for them.”
Seven
The words Miss Bennet said to Theo before he left her last night came back to him as soon as he awoke. So moved had he been by her compassion, it had taken every ounce of strength he could muster to leave her bedchamber. But leave he did, for he knew where staying would lead. And he wasn’t about to start down any road that might end in making a foolish match.
Yes, she was beautiful and desirable and bold, but he required more those qualities in a wife. He also wanted a woman who loved him passionately, not one who viewed him merely as the lesser of evils.
Putting Miss Bennet out of his thoughts, Theo rang for his valet, who came at once. When he was shaved and dressed, he left his room and moved past the guest room door as quietly as he could.
“Captain, is that you?”
Theo bit his lip and kept going. Though it pained him to be rude, it was either ignore her or succumb to her wiles. Yes, she would make him a faithful wife—of that, he had little doubt. But “faithful” was hardly the same as passionately devoted. And his soul would never be satisfied with anything less.
Nor, he suspected, would hers.
He took the stairs one at a time, planning to grab a quick breakfast before setting out. In the dining room, he found Winnie in a pink morning gown, already eating. She looked up as he came in, but did not give him her usual good-morning smile. Rather, she regarded him with poison in her eyes.
“What did you say last night to upset poor Miss Bennet?”
Her question caught him off-guard. “Nothing.”
He could feel her disapproving stare following him as he moved to the sideboard. There, a footman as tall as he was waited to fill his plate with his choice of rashers, kippers, deviled kidneys, or cold ham to accompany his poached eggs and buttered toast.
As Theo communicated his preferences to the servant, Winnie said in a reproving tone, “Then why did I find her in tears when I looked in after you left her?”
“How should I know?” He shrugged to hide the disquiet stirred in him by Miss Bennet’s unhappy state of mind. “Perhaps she was lamenting her forthcoming marriage.”
“Did she speak to you of it?”
“She did.”
“And will you help her?”
Theo watched the footman scoop a poached egg out of a silver chafing dish and deposit it upon his plate. “And just how do you propose I do that?”
“Marry her yourself.”
He scoffed at her suggestion. “Don’t be ridiculous. I hardly know the lady.”
“What does that matter? She is beautiful, high-born, and good-hearted. What more could any man want in a wife?”
Theo licked his lips. “I cannot speak for other men, but I should like a wife who is sincerely attached to me.”
“What makes you think Miss Bennet is not?”
“The brevity of our acquaintance, for one,” he replied. “And the things she said to me last night, for another.”
Winnie’s eyebrows shot up. “What things?”
As the footman took his loaded plate to the table, Theo scowled at his sister. “Am I to have no privacy in my own bloody house?”
Defiance narrowed Winnie’s eyes and hardened her features. “Not if you are going to refuse to see reason.”
“It is you, not I, who is being unreasonable,” he retorted. “Real-life courtships are not like those in your novels, Winnie. And the sooner you come to grips with that reality, the better off you will be.”
Theo took his seat at the head of the table and began to eat, hoping his sister would not mention Miss Bennet again.
His hopes were disappointed when next she spoke. “Even if that is true, it is clear to me you like each other, and many a marriage has been made upon far less.”
“Very true.” As he raised a forkful of egg to his mouth, he lifted his gaze to hers. “But if and when I ever do tie the knot, it will be for nothing less than mutual love—not like—and let that be an end to this conversation.”
While Winnie sometimes pushed his patience to its limits, she also knew when to concede defeat. She sighed heavily, but thankfully said no more on the subject.
Half an hour later, as Theo’s mare galloped across the bucolic green countryside, he could not stop thinking about the things his sister relayed about Miss Bennet. Had he said or done something to make her cry?—or, as he’d conjectured earlier, was her compulsory marriage the source of her laments?
The idea of her wedding someone else—especially someone she reviled—was a torment to his soul, though why it should upset him so he could not comprehend. He was not in love with her. He absolutely refused to believe otherwise. For love at first sight, so-called, was naught but a romantic delusion born of infatuation and lust, not sincere and lasting attachment.
And yet, there was the potential for love to grow from like, if indeed her fondness for him was sincere. But the chance their feelings would never blossom beyond friendship was still too great. Besides, he’d have to be mad to commit himself to a woman he knew so little. Yes, he desired her, but he well knew the difference between love and lust. One day, he might feel something deeper, but there were no guarantees.
Fed up with turning his gears in vain, he stopped atop a hill and stretched his gaze across the landscape—a patchwork quilt in varying shades of brown and green. The pastoral view was a welcome change from the endless flat expanse of choppy grey-green water to which he’d been accust
omed in the Navy.
He missed the sea at times, but also was glad to have finally broken its hold on him. For she had been a mercurial mistress—a purring kitten one day and a roaring tigress the next. She made him rich and built him up, but she’d also stripped him bare. Were the sea a flesh-and-blood woman, he would have left her years before he did.
A breeze kicked up, ruffling his hair and blowing his thoughts back to Miss Bennet. If he had any sense, he would let her marry her cousin and never think on her again. Yes, yes, that was the thing to do. Walk away and forget she existed. Going to her room last night had been a grave mistake—and one he must not make again.
* * * *
Had Louisa been able to ride, she would have stolen a horse from the Captain’s stables and galloped all the way home without ever looking back. Regrettably, being bedridden, she could do naught but lay here, smiting herself for her stupidity.
Tears gathered in her eyes, blurring her vision and beading on her lashes until she blinked them away. She would not cry over this. If she could bear her father’s birchings without tears, she could certainly bear this crushing defeat without falling apart. She had, after all, brought her present misery upon herself.
Lord, what an idiot she had been last night! She was so disgusted with herself she could hardly bear to think of it. She had broken the cardinal rule of courtship. Rather than feigning disinterest, she had thrown herself at the poor man like some desperate fortune-hunter. And now, too late, she deeply regretted her error.
She had allowed anxiety to eclipse her good sense—or was it desire that had overshadowed her reason? Either way, the Captain, who, to his credit, had been naught but a prince throughout the whole humiliating ordeal, clearly wanted nothing more to do with her.
How else to explain why he’d ignored her call when passing her door this morning? Only a deaf man would have failed to hear her and, as far as she knew, the Captain suffered no hearing loss. She had intended to apologize, to beg his forgiveness, to do anything and everything she could think of to restore his good opinion of her…but alas, he had denied her any chance to make amends.
How he must hate me—and who could blame him when I hate myself?
A knock at her bedchamber door jolted Louisa out of her self-recriminations. Was it the Captain? If so, what would she say? This morning, she’d greatly desired an audience with him, but now would rather die than meet him face-to-face.
Jittery with angst, she propped herself up on the pillows and smoothed her unkempt braid. “Who is it?”
“It is I, Miss Raynalds, with a crutch for you to try. May I come in?”
The sound of Miss Raynalds’s voice coming through the door activated in Louisa’s breast alternating flurries of disappointment and relief.
“By all means,” Louisa replied. “Pray, do.”
She sat up straighter, as eager to try the crutch as she was to question Miss Raynalds about her brother. Had he told her—Heaven forbid!—what passed between them last night?
The door swung open and in came her visitor, carrying a tall cane topped by a support wrapped round with rags. Miss Raynalds shut the door and drew nearer, her eyes brimming with compassion.
“I thought you might be tired of being abed.”
“I might find it more tolerable if I had a book to read,” Louisa told her. “I do not suppose you have Pride and Prejudice in your library.”
Miss Raynalds’s face lit up like a lantern. “I not only have it, I have just finished reading it for the tenth time.” A dreamy look came into her eyes as she went on. “Each time I read it, I find myself wondering if Lizzy and Mr. Darcy will set aside the attitudes and misapprehensions that keep them apart, even though—”
“Stop!” Louisa cried before she could finish. “I beg of you not to spoil the suspense by telling me how it ends, for I am reading it for the first time—after waiting two whole years to get my hands on a copy.”
“Forgive me.” Miss Raynalds pressed a hand to her breast. “It is just that, when I think about Pride and Prejudice, I get so excited I forget myself. Perhaps when you are finished with it, we can have a discussion about the novel.”
“That would be delightful.” Louisa let a smile break across her face for the first time that day. “In the meantime, would you do me the favor of loaning me your copy? I left mine at home, you see, and am most eager to get back to it.”
“Yes, of course. Nothing would make me happier.” As she spoke, Miss Raynalds positioned the crutch so Louisa might avail herself of its support while attempting to rise. “Now, shall we see about getting you up and about?”
Louisa pictured herself hobbling the five miles home with the crutch under her arm. Could she make it? Would the Captain be sorry or glad to see her go?—or would he not even notice her absence?
With those and similar questions bouncing around in her brain, she maneuvered to the edge of the bed and took hold of the crutch. When she was confident it would support her weight, she hoisted herself to her feet.
Her discomfort must have shown on her face because Miss Raynalds asked, “Is your ankle still too painful to move about?”
Louisa thought about the Captain, who would suffer the loss of his leg for the rest of his life. Did it still pain him? It surely must. And yet he bore his suffering without complaint, just as she had silently borne hers all these years. She respected people who did not whine about their hardships, and thus, was not about to moan over an injury as trifling as a sprain.
“I am perfectly well,” she told her companion. “It just smarted a bit when I made the mistake of putting too much weight on it.”
Miss Raynalds arched one golden eyebrow. “But not now that you have elevated your foot?”
“No.” It was mostly true. The injury still hurt, though not to an insufferable degree.
“Can you walk?”
Louisa took a minute to consider how best to manage mobility. Then, with some hesitation, she moved the crutch forward and hopped on her good leg to catch up. “Yes, I can,” she declared triumphantly.
She took another step and another. Though the wrapped support dug into her underarm most unpleasantly, she was grateful to be up and moving—albeit with as much grace as an elephant.
“The stairs, I fear, will still prove too difficult for you,” Miss Raynalds said. “But with my help, you might be able to make it down to dinner without breaking your neck.”
The thought of navigating the stairs struck mortal fear into Louisa. She saw the crutch slip on a tread, saw herself tumbling down the flight, saw her lifeless body sprawled at the bottom with her broken limbs akimbo. She blinked the disturbing image away, now quite convinced she would never make it to the first floor, let alone all the way to Craven Castle.
Like it or not, she was stuck here until her ankle mended well enough to ride.
“Is anything amiss, Miss Bennet?”
Louisa, still limping about the room on her support, saw her chance. “I was just wondering why I have not yet seen your brother today.”
“He went out riding immediately after breakfast and has not yet returned.”
The girl’s straightforward answer made Louisa wonder if she had been too hasty in assuming the Captain was avoiding her. “How did he seem at breakfast? Any different than usual?”
“Now that you mention it, he seemed rather troubled. I asked what was bothering him, but he refused to tell me, leaving me to draw my own conclusions.”
Louisa halted in her tracks. “Might I ask what conclusions you drew?”
“Well, it seemed to me he was upset about whatever happened between the two of you last night. I do not suppose you would be willing to tell me what he did to make you cry.”
Shame set Louisa’s face afire. “Why do you think he made me cry?”
“I heard you as I passed your door on my way to bed.”
“Oh, I see.” Louisa’s stomach tightened. “Well, to set the record straight, it was nothing he said. Rather, it was something I stupidly
said to him…and now deeply regret.”
The girl waited for her to go on, then said, “Will you not tell me what it was?”
Louisa bit her lip as she considered how much—if anything—she was willing to disclose. At length, she decided to err on the side of caution, for she could not bear the thought of telling anyone—let alone the Captain’s own sister—how shamefully she had behaved.
“If it is all the same to you, I would prefer to keep it between myself and your brother.”
“Oh, do tell me! Please, Miss Bennet. For we are true friends now, are we not? And do not friends share all their deepest, darkest secrets between them?”
Louisa took pity on the waif. Unlike her, Miss Raynalds had no sisters in which to confide, or any trustworthy friends here in Much Wenlock. She had her brother, of course, but that was hardly the same. A girl could not share her most intimate thoughts and feelings with a brother the way she could with a sister or particular friend.
Louisa decided then and there to extend the hand of true friendship to Miss Raynalds. “Well, if you must know, I stupidly asked him to engage himself to me—a request he politely declined.”
Miss Raynalds’s smile drooped at the corners. “Did my foolish brother give you a reason for his refusal?”
Louisa heaved a sigh. “He suspects I am only using him to escape marrying my cousin.”
“Is that true?”
“Not completely.” Louisa licked her lips. “I genuinely like him and sincerely believe my feelings will deepen upon closer acquaintance—which I explained to him without making the least headway.”
Miss Raynalds’s smile bloomed anew. “He will come around. You will see.”
The embers of Louisa’s hopes flickered ever so faintly. “What makes you say so?”
“I know my brother, Miss Bennet. And I know he favors you above any woman he has met since Miss Carter disappointed him.”
“Just not enough to marry me, apparently.” Though Louisa knew she was being unreasonable, she could not help expressing her discontent.
