by Cheryl Holt
“Yes…it is,” she cautiously said.
She was eager to hurry back to the city. Wasn’t she?
It wasn’t London that was calling to her precisely. She was simply anxious about being in the country with him. They were too secluded, and in their isolation it seemed that any behavior was allowed. Up in her bedchamber he’d proved she was no better than she had to be, and she was very afraid that—given further opportunity—she’d shame herself again.
“What if I say I’d like to head back right now?” she asked.
“You can say it, but we’re staying, so it’s pointless to complain.”
“You are the most infuriating man.”
“Yes, I’ve constantly been told that I am.”
“Were you arrogant and domineering from the start?”
“From the start? You mean as a boy? Yes, I suppose I was. Ramsey claims I was always horrid and impossible.”
“How old were you when you met him?”
“Three? Four? I don’t recollect.”
“He would know then—if he’s had to put up with you that long. Have you ever wondered where you come by such imperious traits?”
He scowled. “I had to be arrogant, or I wouldn’t have survived. I didn’t grow up rich and spoiled—like some people I could name.”
She was rattled by his use of the word survived. It conjured up too many images that made her feel sorry for him.
“Yes, I’m aware that you were a homeless waif. How were you orphaned? Who were your parents? Have you any idea?”
“Miss Wells, why are you asking?” he slyly said. “Are you curious about me?”
“No.”
He laughed and shook a scolding finger in her face. “Remember what I told you about lying to me? You shouldn’t. You are awfully bad at it.”
“I might be a tad curious,” she admitted.
“With good reason,” he pompously retorted. “I dare say you’ve encountered few men like me in your life.”
“That would be an understatement.”
He plopped down on the sofa and clasped her hand, dragging her onto his lap. She made a halfhearted effort to remain standing, but of course he won the battle.
“What is it you wish to learn about my past?” he said. “I’ll tell you what I can.”
“Where were you born?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who were your parents?”
“I don’t know.”
“How did you end up in an orphanage?”
“I don’t know.”
It took her a moment to realize he was teasing her, and she didn’t like him to exhibit a playful demeanor. She’d start liking him again, but then wasn’t that why she’d come to the country? Wasn’t she determined to lure better behavior to the fore?
She glowered. “Would you be serious?”
He chuckled. “All right. In my very first memory, I was tiny. There was a terrible fire, and I was out in the dark, watching huge flames engulf a building.”
The story raised the hairs on the back of her neck. “You were alone?”
“I think someone was with me, but it was very chaotic. I couldn’t find the person who was minding me.” He shuddered dramatically. “I hate fire to this day.”
“Was it your parents’ home?”
He thought and thought. “I don’t believe so. It might have been a hotel or a coaching inn?”
“What makes you assume so?”
“It just seems to be true.” He shrugged. “In my next memory, I was at the orphanage with Ramsey. I was young. Maybe three or four?”
“Was it the building where my rescue mission is?”
“Yes.”
“You grew up there?”
“No, I lived there occasionally. Ramsey and I would sneak off and try to manage on our own, but when we were too hungry or too weary, we’d go back. I guess they felt sorry for us, because they always took us in.”
“Mostly you lived on the streets?”
“Yes.”
“You were just a boy. Wasn’t it scary?”
He scoffed at her concern. “It wasn’t so bad. I discovered some nasty tricks that helped me get by.”
“What sorts of tricks?”
“Thievery. Pickpocketing. The usual crimes.”
“You’re rich and prosperous now.”
“I definitely am, and since you’ve noticed—and we’re both aware that you’re a poverty-stricken spinster—will you glom on to me for my money?”
“No. It would require more than a large fortune to make me like you. And don’t change the subject.”
“What was the subject again?”
“How have you become so wealthy? You began with petty crimes.”
“Yes, but I was smart and shrewd—as well as vicious and driven—and I refused to be poor. I gradually elevated myself above everyone else.”
“With your gambling?”
“Among other things.”
“What other things?”
“That, Miss Maggie, is probably more than you need to know about me.”
He pushed her to her feet, and he stood too.
“I thought I hated it here in the country,” he said.
“Then why did we come?”
“So I could ruin you, remember?”
“It’s not happening, so why are we staying?”
“I’m enjoying myself for once. Normally I can’t abide the quiet and the deserted country lanes. I’m a city boy through and through, and I’ve always had to work very hard. I have no idea how to relax.”
“I have no idea either,” she agreed. “At least not since I was seventeen and moved to town. I can’t stand to be idle.”
“Well, we’re going to be idle and pamper ourselves. Do you paint?” he strangely asked.
“Every girl of my station learns how to paint.”
“I have brushes and canvases in a cupboard. We’ll sit out in the garden and you can paint me a picture.”
“I will—as long as you promise not to laugh at my lack of skill.”
“Later, you can play the pianoforte for me.”
“I had lessons, but I’m awful at it. How about you?”
She’d expected him to say the same, but he stunned her by claiming, “I’m very good at it.”
Her jaw actually dropped in surprise. “You are?”
“Yes.”
“Who taught you?”
“No one. I just always knew how.” He winked at her. “I can sing too. Wait until you hear me. You’ll be amazed.”
“Are you pulling my leg?”
“No. Trust me, you’ll be floored.”
“Could it be a talent inherited from your parents?”
His brows rose—as if he’d never considered the prospect. “It could, I guess.”
“My friend, Evangeline, was an orphan too, and she can play and sing so beautifully. She assumed it was an inherited gift.”
“I suppose it’s possible.” As if the topic bored him, he waved it away. “Go upstairs and change.”
“Into what? All I have with me are my three gray dresses.”
“The servants tell me that some of your new clothes were delivered a bit ago.”
“And I told you not to buy me any clothes.”
“Why would I listen to such a silly comment?”
She peered up at him, finding him elegant and fascinating and—at that moment—so very, very likeable.
“No, you’d never listen to me.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere.” He nodded and motioned to the stairs. “If there’s a straw bonnet in the pile, wear it for me.”
“Why?”
“We’re going on a picnic, and I want to see you sitting in the grass in a bonnet that matches your gown—with a bow tied under your chin.”
She stood gaping at him, and finally he said, “What?”
“A picnic?”
“Yes, and I’ll fetch the brushes and canvas so you can paint me that picture I requested.”
“If I have to paint for you, you’ll have to perform for me once we’re back inside.”
“I might. We’re on holiday, aren’t we? We can act however we please.”
“Yes, we can, Michael.” She paused and dared to inquire, “How many female guests have you brought to Orphan’s Nest before me?”
“None. You’re the only one ever.”
Should she believe him? To her dismay, she desperately yearned to.
They hovered, perched on the edge of something wonderful. He was staring at her with an intense expression, his gaze warm and affectionate. He was looking at her as if they were sweethearts, as if genuine fondness was blossoming.
But that couldn’t be. Could it?
“Would you get a move on?” he scolded.
She braced, positive he would kiss her. After what they’d shared in her bedchamber, it certainly seemed like he would—or like he should—yet for some reason, he didn’t. He put a hand on her bottom and urged her toward the door.
“Go change,” he said again, “and come down in a dress that’s not gray.”
She hesitated, feeling as if she should toss out a pithy retort, but she couldn’t think of a remark that was appropriately flirtatious, so she settled for, “I’ll pick out the prettiest one—just for you.”
“Perfect,” he murmured. “Absolutely perfect.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
“I’m going to London.”
Pamela glared at Rebecca and said, “No, you’re not.”
Rebecca glared back and said, “I am.”
They were in the front parlor at Cliffside, Gaylord lurking in the corner, and Pamela cooed, “Gaylord, darling, what is your opinion?”
“Why would I care what she does?” he replied.
Pamela bit down a furious retort and forced a smile. “You’re the head of the family, Gaylord. You can’t consider it appropriate for her to traipse off on her own. What would people say?”
“I don’t give two figs what people say. She’s embarrassed herself with all the young men in the neighborhood. Who would be surprised if she starts in with the young men in the city?”
“Gaylord!” Pamela snapped. Her constant regret was that he never behaved as she wanted him to, that he’d never turned out to be the husband she needed.
“I’m not asking your permission,” Rebecca declared. “I’m simply telling you where I’ll be.”
“You’re not asking?” Pamela fumed. “You’re telling? I won’t have it, Rebecca. I truly won’t.”
“To quote your husband, I don’t give two figs as to your opinion.”
“Don’t expect me to cough up the money to finance your little jaunt,” Gaylord bestirred himself to complain.
“As Pamela has no jewels you haven’t sold,” Rebecca sniped, “I’m certain you have no money, so it’s a moot point.”
“What are you planning to do?” Pamela asked.
“Maggie was called away from the rescue mission,” Rebecca explained.
“Was she?”
Gaylord and Pamela shared a furtive grin.
“She’s having me stay in her apartment and keep an eye on things while she’s away.”
Rebecca had always been a bad liar, and she glanced away, looking dodgy and dishonest. Pamela couldn’t guess what was really occurring.
Gaylord snorted. “You’ll stay at Maggie’s rescue mission? You’ve never been to that seedy neighborhood before, so I must caution against it. You could be endangering yourself.”
“Maggie’s been there for seven years, and no mishap has befallen her.”
“She’s such a harridan,” Gaylord snidely said, “that no miscreant would risk getting close enough to harm her.”
“Don’t you dare denigrate her to me,” Rebecca scolded, “and since you are responsible for her being in London, you have an enormous amount of gall to criticize. She’s spent her time helping others. What have you done?”
Rebecca hovered, waiting for Gaylord’s answer, but of course he couldn’t supply one. Rebecca and Pamela knew his sins, and he knew too. Not that he’d ever admit them aloud.
Rebecca smirked. “I’ll write once I’m settled.”
“I told you that you may not leave, Rebecca,” Pamela seethed.
“Yes, and I told you that it doesn’t matter what you think. If I remain here with you two another second, I’ll go mad.”
She swept out, and Pamela was so angry she had to grip the arms of her chair to physically prevent herself from running after her sister. She’d like to slap Rebecca silly, would like to insult and humiliate her until she was brought down a peg, but there weren’t words in the world sufficient to vent Pamela’s frustrations.
She’d coveted Gaylord so desperately that she’d stolen him from Maggie, and she would stand by him through thick and thin. They were just having a rough patch, but Gaylord was very clever. He insisted he would fix their problem, and she believed him. She couldn’t not believe him. If she suffered the slightest glimmer of doubt, the foundation of her life might collapse.
“The disloyal witch,” Pamela muttered as Rebecca’s strides faded down the hall.
“Don’t fret over her,” Gaylord breezily said. “She’s always been a pain in my ass. If she wants to journey to the city and wallow in Maggie’s squalor, let her.”
“She’s my sister, Gaylord, and I’m her guardian. With no parent to guide her, I should try to keep her under control.”
“To what end? Haven’t you done enough? Haven’t I? She’s lived with us, and I’ve supported her. Any normal, pragmatic girl would have wed ages ago.”
“I suppose,” Pamela hesitantly said.
“If she chooses to be a spinster, that’s her option, but must we put up with her?”
Gaylord had squandered Rebecca’s dowry, so she couldn’t wed even if she wished to, but Pamela would never raise the topic for she wouldn’t discuss the contentious issue.
“What about Maggie?” Pamela asked him. “I’ve never heard of her being away from the mission before. Where would she go? How could she afford to travel?”
“It seems, dearest Pamela, that she’s off frolicking with Michael Scott.”
Pamela gasped. “She agreed to ruin herself for us? When I spoke to her, she was vehemently opposed.”
Gaylord came over and clasped Pamela’s hands, pulling her to her feet. He twirled her around as if they were celebrating.
“It appears Maggie has changed her mind,” he said.
“We have a month until we have to move?”
“Yes, and despite what Michael Scott decides about her, I’ll claim he owes us the whole six months. After we’ve taken the drastic step of surrendering your virginal sister, it’s only fair that we be allowed to remain for the entire period.”
Pamela didn’t deem Mr. Scott the sort to deal in fairness, but she nodded. “Yes, it’s only fair. I don’t understand why he wouldn’t marry her when you offered. That day I saw them together, he was totally smitten.”
“Didn’t I tell you? He’s engaged to someone else.”
“But…but…what will happen to Maggie when he’s through with her? What if she winds up with child?”
Gaylord scowled. “Why would that be our problem, Pamela?”
“She is my sister, Gaylord.”
“Just barely. Let’s not imbue her with a connection she no longer deserves. If she winds up in trouble, whose fault is that?”
“Ours?”
“No, it’s Michael Scott’s. He’ll have to make arrangements for her and the baby, and I’ll force him to pay us for any damage he caused to her.”
He dropped Pamela’s hands and started out.
“Where are you going?” Pamela nervously asked.
“I’m off to town too.”
“Should you, Gaylord?”
“What with Maggie’s capitulation, I’m feeling lucky, Pamela.”
“Oh.” Whenever Gaylord voiced the word lucky they were in grave jeopardy.
“I’ve
found a new club that’s let me join.”
“A gambling club?”
“No, a gentleman’s club, but the members have been known to throw the dice occasionally. With this reversal of my fortunes, I can’t refuse to play.”
Yes, you can!
“I’m afraid I must object.” Pamela sounded uncharacteristically shrewish.
“Object all you want,” he flippantly retorted as he strolled out. “Why would I care?”
She sank down on the sofa, realizing she would be alone in the big mansion until he deigned to return. What catastrophe would he bring with him?
* * * *
“What am I to make of it?”
“I wouldn’t try to guess.”
“Is Mr. Scott being deliberately rude? Or is he oblivious to social etiquette?”
Felicia had written to Mr. Scott to inquire about the wedding. He’d finally replied, and she was at her wit’s end. She was with her mother in her mother’s solar, and just one blasted time she’d like to obtain some commiseration or guidance, but her mother was stoically silent.
Ever since Lord Stone had apprised them of his fiscal calamity, her mother had been in a state of shock. She had no counsel to share.
“He’s not highborn,” Felicia said, “but he has some manners. Why doesn’t he exhibit them?”
“If you’re hoping for stellar behavior from the man, you need to reassess what will be possible with him.”
“What are you saying? Are you saying I shouldn’t obey Father?”
She was on tenterhooks, praying her mother would order Felicia to cry off, praying her mother would develop a spine and advise Felicia to develop one too. Together, they could tell Lord Stone and Michael Scott to stuff it.
To her great frustration, her mother responded, “No husband is ever what his bride is expecting.”
“Couldn’t he pretend to be interested in marrying me? Here at the beginning, when he went to so much trouble to win me from Father, couldn’t he pretend to be glad? Is that too much to ask?”
“Mr. Scott went to no trouble over you.” Lady Stone tsked. “It was all your father’s mess. Mr. Scott just sat there and watched your father race to ruin.”
Felicia still couldn’t believe it. She yearned instead to believe there had been some treachery involved on Mr. Scott’s part, but apparently Lord Stone had merely wagered until he’d had naught left to barter but Felicia. Why would Mr. Scott have declined to take what was so gleefully and recklessly squandered?
