When a Rake Falls

by Sally Orr

  He gave an exasperated sigh. “We have always been the best of friends. Please turn around and speak to me.”

  Blast. He was right. He did not deserve her ill will. But this was one of those rare times when the presence of a friend made matters worse. If only she had pretended to be busy. Refold the balloon or inventory equipment, then she’d have an excuse to politely ask him to leave her alone.

  Charles Henry stood with his hand on one hip. Dressed in baggy beige trousers and coat, he seemed indistinguishable from the straw and wood walls. The expression on his face resembled a wealthy, spoiled man who expected to be attended.

  “Lord Boyce appeared upset this morning as well. Do you and his lordship share some secret? Or perhaps the trouble is more serious and there is an understanding between the two of you?”

  An odd choke escaped her. “No, no, of course not. He is wealthy, titled, and one of London’s most admired bachelors.” She feigned a carefree chuckle. “Yes, I am a gentleman’s daughter, but you heard him. His lordship is an aristocrat who expects to marry a woman named Lady Sarah. I’m sure he would never even consider a woman like me. What a silly notion.”

  “Yes, I forgot for a moment that he is an aristocrat from such a distinguished family. Gentlemen of his consequence would never consider you as a potential spouse.” Charles Henry narrowed his eyes. “Also, his abhorrent behavior in the stables proved that he is not in the least serious in regard to women.”

  He was right, of course. Parker would never imagine her—someone not a member of the ton—as the woman he might eventually wed. Still Charles Henry’s words hurt, a small stab in the heart. But his accusation over Parker’s behavior in the stables, Eve firmly believed, was unjust. While she did not fully understand the scene they encountered, she believed it to be an innocent one, despite appearances. She knew him well enough to know that he always tried to provide comfort to any female who was worried, sad, or unhappy. “His behavior in the stables was innocent, like a kitten rubbing your leg.”

  “Unseemly creatures, cats, but his behavior is not the point. My concern is your odd behavior since we’ve arrived at the priory. My restoration of the book and our return to London does not seem to excite you.”

  “I am delighted about the book’s recovery.” She recalled how odd and unlikely Charles Henry’s story had seemed that he merely noticed a servant holding the book. She gave him a hard stare. “Tell me, how did you really acquire the book? Everyone had been searching for days, so I think it is rather remarkable that you just stumbled upon a servant who willingly gave it to you.”

  He made no sound or movement, but the color drained from his face. “This morning I saw the book in the hands of a servant. Of course, he refused to hand it over, stating it belonged to his mistress. It took a great deal of persuasion and cunning to persuade him to place it in my care, believe me.”

  The color returned to his cheeks, but the halting cadence of his voice led her to believe he fabricated the story. She suspected the servants found the book and gave it into the hands of one of the ladies of the priory. She also started to give credit to Parker’s story. Since both ladies were fond of him, they might have presented it to him first. But how did it end up in Charles Henry’s hands? Her respect for the Buxton ladies convinced her that the wisest choice was to remain silent. However, she could no longer unreservedly trust Charles Henry.

  “After I presented you with the Results book,” he said, “I could tell you were pleased. So you must be grateful for my efforts to recover it, even though I have not, as yet, received a formal thank-you.”

  She spun to face him. “Of course I’m grateful. Indeed, I cannot thank you enough. Many of your efforts are written on its pages, so you understand the book’s importance.”

  His chest swelled in recognition of her praise. “I am glad you are grateful for my efforts to recover the book. I think together we make a good team, don’t you?”

  The word team grabbed her full attention. She then noticed his expression assume even more gravity. Oh no—he wouldn’t—not now.

  “As you are undoubtedly aware, you and I have expectations about our future. Unspoken, since we have never discussed it, but you are an intelligent young woman, so you must have been aware of it. I have recently spoken to your father and asked for your hand. He approved my request, of course.” His speech took on the speed of a runaway team of horses. “I therefore ask you for your hand in marriage. Your father anticipated our eventual marriage, and he approved of my suit.” He picked up her hand and slapped his on top.

  Eve stared at his hand. He seemed composed, but his clammy palm betrayed his anxiety. Her stomach began to churn, and she regretted the choice of bacon for breakfast.

  Before this week, her opinion of Charles Henry had been positive. He worked diligently and possessed a mind of the first order. But now, for the first time, she thought of him in a physical sense. She found his wet palms and dark-ginger whisker growth not to her taste in gentlemen, making her feel guilty. No woman in her right mind ever expected a Greek god, like Parker, as her partner in life. However, a gentleman with a figure and features similar to Parker’s would make a suitable spouse. She immediately recognized the irony and injustice of her thoughts. Perhaps Lady Sarah was picky, because she too preferred a gentleman that resembled someone she had once been fond of.

  “I give you my assurances,” he said, “that I will be the husband you need. Together we can proceed as we are. The three of us will surely continue to accomplish significant atmospheric discoveries. In the future, your assistance will prove crucial in helping me become England’s most celebrated aeronaut.”

  Charles Henry’s ambition troubled her. There seemed to be more involved than just helping others through atmospheric discoveries. “I don’t understand—”

  “It also goes without saying that our union might be blessed with children,” he said. “I expect they will eventually join us and carry our work on into the future.” He jerked her hand up to his lips for a brief kiss. “What do you say? Let’s make this a formal agreement, shall we?” His tone changed with this last question. Now utter confidence crept into voice. He briefly hugged her. “Of course we will marry.” He kept both hands on her shoulders, but held her at arm’s length. “Eve?”

  She felt like running, but her feet remain dutifully planted. All she could do at the moment was notice his odd gesture of holding her far from him. “You mentioned our work in the field of atmospheric science, yet you did not say anything about—you know—affection. Those words are normally expected when a gentleman proposes.”

  “Ha, ha. We have known each other for such a long time, we don’t need to use those words, do we?” He still held her at arm’s length.

  She failed to reply, staring at his perfectly stiff arms.

  He laughed again. “Yes, I understand.” He nodded his head sideways back and forth. “Women and all that love faradiddle. You do realize, of course, that mutual respect and affection are common before marriage, but love is earned only many years after the vows.”

  Was he mad?

  “Yes,” he continued. “I have heard about those stories of passionate romance ladies love to read, but those tales are all just fiction, like the tales found in three-volume novels. They don’t happen in real life, or at least, not to people like us—good, sober, hard-working people. I expect to be deeply in love after the birth of our first child. Most people are by then, I’m told.” He gave her another lightning-quick hug. “Come on, Eve, what do you say?”

  She couldn’t think of a single word that would be a suitable reply. Squinting at the overbright sunlight streaming in through the open stable doors, she realized she had the headache.

  “Eve, we must marry. With our marriage, I can rightfully claim my place as your father’s partner, and we can continue our research on the atmosphere. You do realize there is no alternative to my suit?”

 
The only alternative Eve could ever consider would be Parker. Mortified at Charles Henry’s indifference to her as a potential love interest, she considered her feelings if Parker were to ask for her hand. She felt light-headed for a moment. If she married Parker, she would have to give up science and become the proper wife of an aristocrat—no “meddling” around in balloons. She supposed she would have to entertain his family and friends by holding endless parties, teas, routs, or whatever aristocrats actually did to fill up their days. Her spirits reached a new low.

  Perhaps if she waited and did not compromise her dreams by marriage to Charles Henry, she might meet another gentleman who suited her taste, one who engendered similar feelings to those Parker had awakened. She might even forget about Parker with the passage of time, a distinct advantage to her future happiness.

  “Eve?”

  She craved a hug or a shower of kisses, but not from the man before her. Fighting the unshed tears starting to pool in her eyes, she said, “I plan to walk the short circuit down to the stream, so I hope you will excuse me.” She started in the direction of the path, and her heart sank when he perfunctorily followed her.

  “I think fresh air will do us both a bit of good.”

  Eve quickened her pace, resulting in a steady crunch of gravel.

  He easily kept up with her longest strides.

  She tried to affect a carefree tone. “Thank you for your offer, but please allow me the privacy to give it full consideration and time to speak to my father.” Before she ran away, she gave him what she hoped was a smile. “I must say, Charles Henry, I find your knowledge of females and romance truly enlightening.”

  * * *

  Later in the afternoon, Eve stood before a tall looking glass in her room, holding up the richly colored amethyst gown with the lovely overdress and collar of delicate gold vines. She had neither the time, money, nor guidance from a fashionable modiste to dress in the latest fashion. But looking at the soft fabric overdress, shimmering in the sunlight from the windows, gave her a sense of calm joy—the type of joy where you comprehend the very moment you are happy. She sighed and glanced over to another gown lent to her by Lydia, a satin gown of soft rose, accented with Honiton lace around the bodice and puffed sleeves. If a highwayman stopped her carriage and demanded one of these gowns, she could never choose.

  Stifling her fanciful thoughts, she returned to her comfortable world of logic. She hung the lovely rose-colored gown next to the purple silk, and donned her brown flannel gown. It had been cleaned and pressed, but its milled surface showed a few smooth areas of wear. Once she pinned her hair, she put on her tight-fitting cap. She headed outside to search for her father and discover when they planned to leave for London.

  Eve eventually found him, and Lady Buxton, in the priory’s drawing room. Close by the fire were four overstuffed wing chairs. The two chairs next to the fire must have been favorites, since the heavy leather on their arms were almost worn through from use. Lady Buxton sat nearest the fire, while Eve’s father stood by the windows.

  “Ah, Eve, there you are. Lady Buxton here has expressed great interest in my endeavors at atmospheric research. She has even done me the honor of expressing a desire to observe my next ascension. Isn’t that a generous offer?”

  Lady Buxton slowly stroked a large cat. The ginger animal appeared to be kneading its claws into the chair’s cushion, but her ladyship did not seem to mind. “Come in, my dear. I have heard a great deal this morning. It seems you have important news to share with your father.” She looked rather guilty. “I mean your father already knows, of course. But perhaps you would like me to leave, so you can talk to him alone about your future?”

  Blast. Her father must have revealed Charles Henry’s proposal to her ladyship. “Please stay, Lady Buxton. You have been so kind to me during my stay at the priory that I now think of you as a relative. Besides, your ginger would be quite upset with me if you moved.”

  “Oh, you are very kind,” Lady Buxton said, “and you’re right. Old Arthur here would be quite put out if I got up. Now come here and tell us all about this engagement of yours.”

  Eve had no intention of relating any information about her lukewarm suitor. She took her seat in a wing chair and formulated the right words to draw out information before she had to reveal her own thoughts. “Tell me, sir. What exactly did Charles Henry say?”

  Thomas Mountfloy rose to the bait like a hungry trout jumping out of the water to catch a false fly. “Why, yesterday Charles formally asked me for your hand.” He leaned toward Lady Buxton. “Their engagement had been expected ever since Mr. Henry became my apprentice. It’s only logical she would accept him. The young man will go far in this profession, and he’ll need an understanding and supportive wife. Her efforts will allow him to concentrate on the science and not be held back by all the petty details of living that normally belong to women. Besides, Eve here likes him, and I am sure he likes her. What could be more natural?” He turned and extended his hand to his daughter.

  Eve moved to take her father’s hand, and he squeezed hers before letting go. After her mother’s death, Eve had done everything in her power not to disappoint him. She was a dutiful daughter, and she obeyed him in all respects. “Lady Buxton, I am—”

  “The young man has an adequate living,” Mr. Mountfloy said to Lady Buxton. “But he is a gentleman’s son who lacks sufficient connections in science. I see no reason for Eve not to agree to his proposal. I personally wondered what they were waiting for.”

  “Yes,” Lady Buxton said. “I can see how expectations of their union would become natural.”

  “He really is a fine man, your ladyship,” he continued. “I could not be happier having him as a son-in-law.”

  The smile on Lady Buxton’s face faded. She stroked the ginger with slower more measured strokes. “And what do you feel about your engagement, my dear?”

  Eve inhaled a long, deep breath. “I am…I am considering the match, your ladyship. It is all so very strange and our lives topsy-turvy at the moment. I do not fully understand why Mr. Henry made his proposal here and now.”

  The soft smile returned to Lady Buxton’s face. “Yes, Mr. Henry’s timing does seem a bit odd—understandable under the circumstances but still odd.”

  “And what circumstances would that be?” Eve asked. She suspected Lady Buxton perhaps knew something she did not.

  “Nothing odd about it,” Mr. Mountfloy pronounced. “Once they are married, we can all go on as before. I see no real changes to our lives. Of course you will marry him. Take a day or two—it’s important not to rush into these things. But once you agree, we all can continue our experiments for the good of the people of Britain.” He nodded at Lady Buxton. “And I am positive her ladyship has no real objections to the match, do you?”

  Lady Buxton stopped petting the cat and looked directly at Eve. “Miss Mountfloy has repeatedly impressed me with her good sense. I am positive she has the courage to recognize her heart’s choice when it comes time to pick a spouse. Now, if you two will excuse me, I will leave you alone to discuss the matter.”

  The older woman started walking to the door, so Eve ran to open it for her.

  “Thank you, my dear. Come along, Arthur.”

  The ginger disobeyed, sat on the floor, and groomed his nose.

  Lady Buxton smiled. “Puss, you traitor. If you need someone to talk to, Miss Mountfloy, please don’t hesitate to find me. Agreed?”

  Eve nodded and the older woman swept from the room.

  Mr. Mountfloy held out his palm again. “You have always been a very obedient child, so I am confident you’ll do what I recommend. Won’t you?”

  Every woman knew the right time and the wrong time to pick a battle with a parent. Now was not the time. She sat in the chair her ladyship had recently vacated and the ginger jumped into her lap.

  “You will do as I recommend?” Mr.
Mountfloy repeated.

  “I have always obeyed you.”

  Her father watched her steadily without speaking. “That is not a sufficient answer.”

  Normally, his gaze did not unsettle her as it did now. After all he was her father. The man she loved the most; the man who cared for her after her mother’s death; and the man who tragically lost his family too, except for her. She wondered if she could please him some way other than agreeing to the match with Charles Henry.

  The ginger circled her lap, sniffing.

  “You have been a good girl. Now is not the time to make exceptions.”

  The frown on his face broke her heart. All she had ever desired was to make him happy. “Of course, sir.” She decided her best strategy was to delay the marriage as long as possible, at least until she found someone to admire in a similar fashion to the way she admired Parker—or the thought of marriage to Charles Henry became more agreeable. Her father had some reason for pressing the match, and it must have something to do with Parker. He must consider Parker a threat to her future or to his.

  Eve stroked the cat all the way to the tip of the animal’s tail. The beast rewarded her by extending its claws into her thigh. She pushed the cat back, but the beast merely rose on all fours, stretched himself, and then attempted to place his paw on her lip. She turned her head to avoid it, then the purring beast circled her lap before it settled down in a tight ball. Not unusual behavior for a cat, but it did seem that all of Lady Buxton’s cats had been trained to be lap-sitters. The only difficulty was the inability to get out of the chair easily.

  Her father lit a clay pipe. “Just toss the animal on the floor. I don’t want you distracted when I speak to you.”

  Eve lifted the ginger to the floor. The cat gave her a fulminating look that clearly expressed she was the ultimate of traitors and ambled off toward her father.

  “You have always been a dutiful daughter and have never given me trouble. I do not want you to get the idea that I don’t appreciate you, because I do. Regardless of Charles Henry’s assistance, I would never have accomplished as much as I have without your help.”