by Anna Small
“How long will you be a guest at Everhill?” he asked at length.
“Another month. My mother thought I would enjoy a change of scene.” And have better luck in catching a husband.
“Has Lucinda painted your portrait, or have you escaped her intentions thus far?”
“She has painted my portrait at least a dozen times, but I do not mind so much.”
He laughed. “I’m afraid every visitor must play model to her aspirations. The last time she painted me I was Marc Antony, but then again, it might have been King Arthur. I don’t think anyone could tell the difference.”
Jane started to laugh but bit her cheek. It wasn’t very nice to share a joke about Lucinda, who was kind, despite her quirks. The colonel seemed to read her thoughts and sobered quickly.
“I’ve known her since she was a small girl and admire her as a doting uncle.”
“She does have talent, though. She spoke of traveling to the Continent one day to study.”
“Her father has said as much. Do you paint, Miss Brooke?”
“No. None of us…my sisters, I mean, has any artistic leaning, I’m afraid.”
“Surely, musical talent is rampant in your household.”
She smiled shyly up at him. “You are too kind, Colonel Blakeney. I know my playing appalled you last night.” There, she’d said it out loud.
“On the contrary!” He placed his hand over his heart. “My sensibilities would not permit me to be in the same room with a neophyte. Even if that neophyte had the most intriguing hazel eyes I’ve ever seen.”
She almost tripped over her feet but was grateful her stumble allowed her to lower her face, which burned with a blush. No one had ever granted her eye color an enchanting name before. But he was probably throwing a compliment her way because she was so plain.
He touched her elbow. “I beg of you, take my arm, please, Miss Brooke. This road is poorly maintained. I would never forgive myself if you turned your shoe.”
The smooth, grassy path stretched before them. She’d only stumbled at the sudden shock of his words. Without another thought, she placed her hand upon his arm. A wave of dizziness swept over her at the contact. Even though she’d played the pianoforte with her hand on his for a solid three hours, it had been in the guise of a lesson. Somehow, this was different.
“What is there for entertainment in Weston?”
“I don’t know. I tend to stay close to home, reading and playing our pianoforte.” She clenched the folds of her skirt as they walked, mortified. He had his adventures, his music, London…She must be horribly drab to him. A little brown moth to his resplendent butterfly.
“I enjoy reading, too. We’ve an extensive library at home. I think I’ve read every book my father owned. Have you read any Keats?”
She refrained from criticizing his romantic tastes. “I read Pepys, and…Sir Thomas More.”
His eyebrows rose. “No Shakespeare? You must have read a little of the bard, Miss Brooke.”
She bit her lip. “A little, I suppose. I did enjoy Richard the Second.”
“Such a dark story for one so young,” he chided, but his smile belied his sternness. “Not Romeo and Juliet? Surely, you’ve read The Tempest?” His brow furrowed. “All’s Well That Ends Well?”
She shook her head. Instead of allowing herself to dream, as a young woman ought, she’d spent most of her days reading the works of dusty old men, long moldering in their graves. What she’d thought had made her appear clever had only kept her from experiencing what the world had to offer.
“I’ve not read much literature, Colonel Blakeney. I read religious works and classical writings. We never had a governess, and I thought to educate myself. I did not wish to waste time on anything frivolous.”
“I would hardly call the human experience frivolous. But I do admire your pursuit of education, Miss Brooke. As I said last night, you’re a very interesting young lady.”
“I don’t know about interesting,” she said, but lowered her head to hide her pleasure at his words. She involuntarily caressed his wool sleeve beneath her hand and stopped, horrified at her actions, before he could notice.
“‘She walks in beauty, like the night,’” he murmured. She caught her breath, and he smiled, his gaze intently fastened on hers. “Lord Byron. Do you know his work?”
She shook her head.
His lower lip curved to one side when he smiled. “Then, I shall introduce you to him, later. I happen to know Everhill boasts a copy of his poems. Perhaps we could meet in the library this afternoon. With Lucinda, as well, of course.”
Her stomach fluttered. The ground had disappeared below her feet. “I suppose I could write my letters this evening.”
“Good.” His arm squeezed around hers, hugging it briefly to his side. They walked in easy silence for a while longer, until he cleared his throat. “If I may be so bold, Miss Brooke, will you dance with me at the ball? I don’t know anyone but you and Lucinda. My…injury”—he swallowed—“makes it awkward for some ladies. I do not think it bothers you.”
With his thick, black hair, swarthy pirate’s skin, and glittering brown eyes, he was the very image of a romantic swashbuckler. How any woman could possibly resist his charms was a mystery. She pondered how Susanna Olivier had ever spurned him.
“I am deeply flattered, Colonel Blakeney, but I’m afraid I shall disappoint you. I have a habit of treading on my partner’s toes, much in the way of Lucinda’s Turner boys.”
He made an involuntary movement with his injured arm, and she wondered if he’d have patted her hand had he been able.
“I will not mind, I assure you. My boots are thick enough to take a squashing from a young lady’s slippers.”
A giggle escaped her, and she stifled it. Hadn’t she scorned the way some girls simpered over a gentleman’s attention? Yet here she was, clutching his sleeve and acting like the kind of girl she and Lucinda ridiculed. “I won’t know anyone, either. Except, of course, Mr. Parker and Lucinda.”
“Hmm. I suppose you’ll dance with Jeremy.”
His voice changed. Lucinda and Jeremy were walking back, heatedly arguing.
“I…if he asks me.” She was sure as soon as Jeremy entered the ball and was in the presence of new company, he’d swiftly abandon his own party. The thought of dancing with anyone but Colonel Blakeney was suddenly repugnant.
“I will stay in the corner, until it’s my turn with you.” His tone was light, but she sensed he was holding something back.
“Do you not enjoy dancing, Colonel Blakeney?”
“It’s not the dancing.” A flush of color rose up his jaw. “It’s the people, the looks I receive when they first become aware of my…infirmity.”
Jane shook her head. “I cannot imagine anyone staring. You are so…” she wanted to say handsome and admirable but shook her head instead.
He snorted. “Then you do not know London, Miss Brooke.”
Bitterness tinged his voice, and she thought again of the beauty who had broken his heart. A sudden wave of compassion flooded her. “If no one stared at you, would you enjoy yourself?”
“I suppose I’d have to. I don’t think Lucinda will rest until she’s persuaded the entire county to attend.”
Jane wondered at her newfound courage. “I have an idea, if I may be so bold.”
“Bold? You, my dear Miss Brooke?” He chuckled, and her heart soared because he’d said my dear. “I am at your disposal, madam.”
Her thoughts raced with her plan. “When we return to the house, if you please, I will require one of your evening gloves.”
They paused to watch a mother duck and her offspring cross the road in front of Lucinda, who scooped up a few to help along, her quarreling with Jeremy obviously forgotten.
“I think I know what you intend, Miss Brooke, and, while you’re very kind to think of it, it will never work.”
Jeremy sauntered up to them, a slight swagger in his walk. He tipped the corner of his hat to her, and
his smile was decidedly too familiar. If Colonel Blakeney did not attend the ball, she’d be stuck with him all night.
“Trust me, Colonel Blakeney,” she murmured. “I will make it work.”
Chapter Six
The sweet shop was crowded with children and their mothers or governesses, all seeking to find the best confections among the many silver trays and platters displaying various sugared delights. Lucinda squealed over a tray of candies for sampling and stuffed one into her mouth, urging Jane to do the same.
“No, thank you.” Her ears rang with the children’s loud chattering. In her haste to move through the throng, her elbow upset a tray of pink and yellow mints. She stooped to pick them up, hoping no one had noticed. A familiar, sun-browned hand gathered the candies beside her.
“Allow me, Miss Brooke.” The colonel’s voice was close to her ear. She turned and met his gaze and was aware just how near he was. Her face heated.
“I seem to be a clumsy ox of late.”
He shook his head, smiling. “It is very crowded. But”—he stood and set the plate of candies on its pedestal—“I will make good on my word and treat you, if you will allow it.”
“You are too kind, but please, do not trouble yourself. I wish Lucinda had not asked you to…”
“Nonsense. Pretend I’m a knight of old in the days of chivalry. How could any man possibly refuse a lovely damsel?”
It took her a moment to realize he meant her. She was tongue-tied. His smile faded as his gaze intensified.
“Let’s buy the sweets and go,” Jeremy complained, appearing beside them. “I did wish to ride today. Miss Brooke, will you accompany me? Father bought me a splendid pony before you arrived, and I’ve yet to set him to his paces.” He led her away from the colonel, who was examining the array of tempting delicacies on the counter, his back to her.
Lucinda popped up at her side and thrust a brown lump at her. “You must try this, Jane.” She licked her stained lips.
Before Jane could reply, the treat was in her mouth. She nearly gagged from the invasion of creamy smoothness assaulting her tongue and palate. She closed her eyes for a moment, savoring the texture and taste of the chocolate—dark and rich, with the slightest peppery tang. Lucinda clapped her hands.
“Colonel B. thought you’d enjoy it. He’s bought a whole box of them!” She turned around, scanning the shop. Spotting him, she waved. “Colonel B., please, buy me one of these adorable sugar kittens!”
Jane dabbed the corners of her mouth with her handkerchief, startling when she caught Jeremy’s concentrated gaze upon her. “You still haven’t answered my question, Miss Brooke. Will you ride with me today?”
His manner was almost menacing. The colonel’s approach saved her from having to respond. He placed a gaily wrapped box of candy in her arms. She stared at it, unsure of how to react. Jeremy coughed to remind her of his presence. As if she could forget.
“I don’t ride very well,” she replied, with the first excuse that came to her mind.
“Suit yourself.” He walked away, Lucinda following after as she urged him to try one of her sweets. Jeremy spoke to her harshly, and she returned to the shop, her face downcast.
Jane turned to the colonel. “Sir, this cannot be for me.”
“If you would rather have sugar kittens as Lucinda…”
“No, it’s just that…”
“Please, Miss Brooke, accept the sweets as payment for allowing me to hear you play last night.”
Heat rose from her throat to the crest of her cheekbones. “I cannot accept…”
“I did not mean to imply anything untoward.” He’d lowered his voice so only she could hear. “If you wish, I will never speak of it again. I mean it as a sincere compliment. You have more talent than you give yourself credit for.”
She hesitated, but allowed a curt nod. It was difficult not to believe him, even though they’d just met. The feeling she’d known him forever returned.
“They will not be an exclusive gift for you, if it makes you feel better. We will share them. Is that permitted?” He seemed amused by her reticence.
She nodded again, mentally kicking herself for not being more gracious. Perhaps he was accustomed to lavishing gifts on Lucinda, and held her in the same paternal regard.
“You said you do not ride, Miss Brooke. May I suggest we proceed with our plans this afternoon in the library? Perhaps Lucinda would care to join us.”
Lucinda came up to them. “La, Colonel B!” She giggled. “I spend as little time as I can there. But you and Jane must choose a pretty picture book, and I will paint the two of you as you study.” She tapped her chin like an old wise woman, leaving a smear of chocolate on her face. “Hades and Persephone.”
The colonel laughed. “Are you still painting from mythology, Lucinda? I do not wish to criticize your artistic mien, but I am not as glowering as old Hades, am I?”
Jane recalled the myth of Persephone—a goddess captured forever by the infatuated god of the underworld. Her chest tingled, and she held the box of chocolates more securely.
“You used to look like him,” Lucinda explained. “Before, when you visited us. I was terrified of you.”
He pinched her cheek, and she laughed, completely belying her words. A pang of jealousy disturbed Jane for an instant, but she shook it off. Lucinda and the colonel were old friends. Despite her late night music lesson, the colonel and she were barely acquaintances.
“Are you implying I have changed?”
“You’re not as gruff as usual. You never left your rooms except at tea and dinner, yet—here you are, in a sweet shop!” She clapped her hands, obviously delighted she’d dragged him from his accustomed melancholia.
He bowed. “I admit I owe my good humor to the amenable company of charming young ladies such as Miss Brooke and you.”
Jane studied the pink velvet bow on the box and pretended not to hear the conversation, though it was exceedingly delightful to have so much attention. Lucinda tugged her arm.
“Do let us depart for home, Jane. I have the perfect costume for you as Persephone.”
She shook her head vehemently. “I implore you, Lucinda—no more costumes.”
Lucinda pouted. “Very well. I shall use my own imagination. It’s probably for the best, as Papa would be mortified if he saw you in a toga.” She headed outside to where her brother waited, swiping at a patch of flowers with his walking stick.
“Did you enjoy your chocolate?” the colonel asked Jane as they followed them outside.
“I’ve never tasted anything like it before in my entire life.” She was sure she had tasted fine things before, but somehow, could not remember anything before today.
She studied the box in her arms. The velvet bow could trim a hat. It would always remind her of this perfect day, with the sun peeking behind fat, white clouds and the gentleman on whose arm she clung. For a moment, she pretended she was Mrs. Frederick Blakeney, exotic society beauty, and the borrowed dress she wore was one of several in her wardrobe. Her left hand tingled as she envisioned a wedding ring, but she quickly pushed the thought away when the idea of a wedding night popped into her head.
“You should keep trying new things, Miss Brooke. It becomes you.”
With little experience in small talk, she didn’t know how to respond, despite how comfortable and familiar he seemed. She should have paid more attention when her sisters discussed their many beaux. But she had always dismissed talk of flirtations and clever conversations for more scholarly pursuits.
“I am not averse to trying new things,” she insisted. “I never used to like Beethoven, but recently began learning some of his sonatas.” She bit her cheek. He who had fought in a war hundreds of miles from home would hardly be impressed by her meanderings into the world of music.
“I hope Beethoven and chocolate are the start of many new things for you.”
Lucinda and Jeremy walked ahead, and Jeremy glanced back now and then as if to check on them. He scowled at the
colonel, and the arm beneath her hand stiffened. They walked in silence the rest of the way and fell into step together. He shortened his gait to match hers, and she was touched by this simple gesture.
He was everything her parents would want in a husband for her—intelligent and settled, with property in Shropshire, as Lucinda had casually mentioned. Though untitled, he was of noble blood, which alone would win over Mamma.
Realizing where her mind had wandered, she gave a start, embarrassment sweeping over her. She had no right to think of the colonel in those terms. He was merely a kind gentleman—an old war friend of Colonel Parker’s, showing a country spinster a little taste of adventure. How pathetic she must be, daring to think of marriage to such a man. As her mother always said, it was better she’d stuck to books and home life, because nobody wanted a wife without accomplishments or beauty. Her sisters had taken all the beauty and talent her family had bestowed, leaving Jane with nothing but her own mind.
Besides, beauty and talent mattered little to a man who’d sworn never to love again.
****
Frederick glanced down at the girl by his side. She’d tucked her hand around his arm, a part of his sleeve pinched between her fingers. He was astounded his injury had not repelled her. Her reaction to him the previous night had given him hope where he’d scarcely had any before.
At first, he’d believed her heart already promised to Jeremy, but from her tone and attitude, it was obvious she had no attachment to him. Although Jeremy had much to learn in manners and respect, he was a good-looking fellow with bright, blue eyes and a dashing seat when he rode in the park. Frederick was too aware the younger Mr. Parker had stolen more than a few hearts in London the previous season.
His chest tightened at the thought of Jeremy proposing to Jane. He’d do it out of spite, just as he’d acted toward certain other females of Frederick’s circle. He swore silently, irritated he felt insignificant beside a younger man who was unequal to him in sensibilities and taste.
