To Catch a Rake

by Sally Orr

  Mr. Drexel paused and caught her startled expression. “Right. Relieved myself of my male companions of the evening to stand up with every wallflower in attendance.” He gave Susanna a courteous nod, then focused on slicing his cheese.

  Meta thought Susanna might swoon. She remained staring at the man in a brazen, admiring fashion Meta needed to comment upon once they were alone.

  Now emboldened by his response, Susanna continued. “I beg pardon, sir, but I have no one to ask, you see, and I have several questions I’m dying to get answers to. Do gentlemen really admire satin ribbons? My suspicions are that it is only ladies who do so.”

  He stared at Meta, his dark eyes unusually wide.

  She had no intention of rescuing him.

  He must have understood her reticence, because he forced a smile and turned to Susanna. “When I was at Almack’s, I admired every…ribbon in the room.”

  “Including the satin ones?”

  “Now I must apologize. I am unable to discern satin from…other ribbons, because the blinding effect of a well-placed ribbon is so alluring to gentlemen like myself.”

  With a deep sigh, Susanna stared at him admiringly.

  Tom must have decided that this was his chance too to get a burning question answered. “If a tunnel under water has leaks, why don’t you dig one in the sky?”

  Mr. Drexel’s wide eyes once again pleaded for her rescue.

  She flashed him a cheerful smile. “Excellent question, Tom. Mr. Drexel, perhaps you would be so kind as to answer Tom’s question?”

  The expression of revenge in his eyes revealed that he intended to comment about this once they were alone. He turned to her brother. “Tunneling in the sky is a difficult endeavor. Air does not form very solid bricks.”

  Tom nodded his little head. “Yes, I see, that makes perfect sense.”

  Mr. Drexel decided to join the ask-a-question party, in all likelihood to avoid responding to more questions himself. “Mrs. Russell, did you enjoy Almack’s during your first Season? I imagine you were very popular with the gentlemen, and not just because of your satin ribbons.”

  Susanna beamed.

  Meta chuckled. “I wed almost immediately after I came out, so no, I have never been to Almack’s.”

  He nodded. “I can say with certainty you would have been sought after for a…dance by all of the gentlemen.”

  “Ah, I don’t believe…” This time the thought of waltzing in his arms brought about the return of the electric feeling, startling her into confusion. His innuendo fueled her fantasies about him, physically feeling him above her, and filling her in an intimate manner. Imagined details of his passion and tenderness embarrassed her to such an extent, she was unable to smile or speak in a lighthearted fashion. She concentrated on buttering her toast. Spreading the butter back and forth many times, she knew all eyes were upon her. Whichever of her siblings spoke first and broke the tension, she promised to direct Cook to make their favorite dishes for a week.

  Mr. Drexel broke the silence. “I see you enjoy a lusty appetite for food. Do you read Fielding, Tom Jones, for example?”

  Cheeks aflame and too embarrassed to speak, she stifled an urge to crawl under the table. He likely referred to the seduction of young Tom by Mrs. Waters. If she remembered rightly, that lady’s promised lovemaking was mimicked during their shared meal by bites and licks of their food. Meta failed to drive his allusion to the seduction of Tom Jones out of her mind. As a result, outrage, horror, and quite frankly, desire, spread through every inch of her figure. She looked up at his gleaming eyes, immediately glanced down, then reflexively up again, then down again.

  Bother, bother, bother.

  “Well, madam, it seems we enjoy similar books.”

  Within a second, Lily must have caught the jest. “Do you mean when Mrs. Waters—”

  “Yes, Mrs. Waters eats food.” Meta pasted on a smiled and swiftly rose. “Back to your studies everyone. Mr. Drexel has important business to attend to.” She herded her siblings out of the room. Luncheon could not continue with her in this unsettled condition. Catching Mr. Drexel’s glance, sure enough, he keenly understood her feelings.

  What a bothersome, flirtatious, irresistible man.

  No woman could ever be safe in his company. Right now, she wanted him out of the house. It was the only way to regain her composure and stop lusting after him. She needed to focus her mind on safer, happier topics, like telling Lily of James’s change of heart. Her sister must be worried sick, so she yearned to tell Lily the news to relieve her troubled mind. “I know you are eager to return to your work, sir. May I show you to the door?”

  He chuckled, a low and deep resonance that spoke of understanding her hint. “Of course.”

  Once she led her guest to the front door, she naturally wanted to thank him for the restoration of her sister’s marital future. However, she could not do so with any semblance of composure.

  He stood by the door without saying a word, threw his gloves into his hat with a thud, then turned to give her his thanks for the meal, the wicked smile set firmly in place.

  She gathered every wit available for rational speech. “No, it is I who should be expressing my gratitude, sir. Although it may have been painful for you to plead with another gentleman, those efforts will soon restore my sister’s happiness, and for that I cannot thank you enough.”

  “I have discussed more unpleasant subjects today than I have in all of the previous year. As far as I am concerned, I have met my obligations to right the situation caused by the misunderstanding over my field guide.” He took her hand. “I doubt we will meet again, so farewell.”

  While she possessed no regrets if he left her life altogether, the safest method to avoid further entanglement or kisses was to forgo his company from now on. Then for some unknown reason, she desired clarification of his unusual, heartfelt speech to James. “Is it true you will only consider marriage to a rich wife? Or was that just fustian to force him to change his mind and resume his addresses to Lily? I’ve heard of aristocrats and people merging estates marrying for wealth, but why an engineer? Surely you are a gentleman with independent means of support. Any woman sympathetic to your profession should make a suitable wife.” She froze upon the comprehension that her question might be misunderstood as seeking the position for herself.

  He examined her thoroughly once again but kept her hand held tight in his. “Some truth.”

  She pulled her hand away.

  “Society is full of women like you, on the shelf and forced to live with their family due to lack of funds. This type of female would not be suitable for me as a wife. On occasion my profession requires significant monetary support. Oh, it can be very profitable, but there are lean times too. Even Mr. Marc Brunel found himself in the poorhouse once, because his clients failed to pay for their projects or others stole his inventions.”

  Bother. Heat seized her cheeks and every inch of skin that came within his view. He must have thought she asked the question because she desired to be his wife. That’s why he mentioned females like her living at home. All she could do at the moment was stutter, “I se-se-see.”

  He must have considered her question a compliment, because he swooped down and retrieved her hand for a gentlemanly kiss. Then he put his large palm on top of hers. “Warm, soft fur.” He laughed. “Farewell, Mrs. Russell. Perhaps one day we may meet again at the tunnel. I hope so.”

  “Good-bye, sir,” she said in a perfunctory manner, still mesmerized by his large, strong hand.

  Wearing a wide grin, he nodded and turned to lightly skip—or was it a hop—down the steps to the street.

  She suddenly remembered his promise. “Fitzy’s bolt,” she shouted. “You will return to see his bolt?”

  He turned to face her, his fingers moving at his side. “Best send him and his bolt to me; it’s quicker. That way I will not lose my valuable time.”

  She nodded and watched his long strides carry him away until he was out of sight. Her ch
eeks were no longer warm—thankfully—but she could not help but wonder if she would ever see him again.

  Oh bother.

  Unsettled by his flirting and even more unsettled by her strong reaction to his charms, she had forgotten to tell him about the Learned Ladies decision to have a picnic. Since she knew the importance of new funds, she resolved to pay a brief call soon, to arrange the details of the picnic. Her visit would not last long, no more than a minute or two, so he should have no objections.

  Tom ran into the vestibule on his way to the drawing room. “Weee.”

  Meta smiled and chased him. “Weee.”

  Eight

  “I have important news that I must tell you in private,” Meta said, finding Lily with Susanna in the schoolroom watching the various rocks they had collected attract or repel a magnetic needle.

  Susanna smirked. “Is Mr. Drexel going to pay a call again? Will he be at our table in the future? Is he courting you, Meta?”

  “No, what gave you that idea?”

  “You do seem to like him an awful lot and your cheeks redden in his presence.”

  Susanna had a valid point. So she decided to avoid his company for the foreseeable future—except for two mandatory encounters, which she’d complete as soon as possible and in the presence of others. First, she’d inform him about the picnic and convince him that the possibility of new investors was serious enough for him to attend. Then her final encounter would be to enjoy the picnic with her friends. Fulfill these two obligations but nothing more. Her attempts to control her romantic imaginings in his presence repeatedly failed and would likely do so if she continued the acquaintance. “Forgive me, Susanna, but you are too young to discuss gentlemen. And I have news for Lily concerning James that I know she will be eager to hear. So if you please, could you leave us alone?”

  Lily quickly glanced up. She wore a fleeting expression of surprise, but then hid it under a mask of indifference. She resumed watching the magnetic needle spin. “Whatever it is, it is of no importance. Come watch this rock make the needle jump.”

  Her sister’s indifference in regard to her wayward suitor confused Meta for a minute, but if she waited much longer, she might burst with excitement. Nothing appealed to her more than witnessing Lily’s joy upon hearing the news that she and James would marry. “Please, Lily, you’ll be delighted; I promise. I really cannot wait any longer.”

  Lily pursed her lips and then suggested they remove to the privacy of her room. She followed Meta upstairs with the gait of one walking to the gallows. Lily sat on her window seat without fluffing the pillows as she normally would, apparently indifferent about her proximity to the cold, rain-soaked glass.

  Meta then poured out the whole story of their remarkable visit with James, including Mr. Drexel’s promise to do his best to remove her initials from the next edition. Well, almost the whole story. She left out Mr. Drexel’s scheme of describing the perfect wife as a means to force James to realize the consequences of losing a sweet wife such as Lily. “James plans to call tomorrow so you two can discuss resuming your engagement.”

  Lily jumped to her feet. “Asking Mr. Drexel for a simple letter is one thing, but, Meta, I wish you had not carried the matter further. I’ve asked you before, but please do not meddle in my affairs.”

  “I only—”

  “Yes, I know your intentions are good and my welfare your main concern. But good intentions are not a valid excuse for discussing my private affairs with strangers. This time you went too far.”

  “I expected you to be grateful to Mr. Drexel for clarifying the situation he caused by his field guide. Not to mention delighted that James has finally seen reason. He truly is willing to apologize and risk his mother’s censure to marry you.”

  Lily sighed and then took her seat by the window. She stared at the misty gray yard and leaned over to place her cheek on a window that must have been very cold. “Well, I hope he speaks to me first before his mother,” Lily said, still fixed on the gloomy scenery. “Then when I refuse, he will not have to endure that unpleasant conversation with his mother.”

  “Refuse! Oh, Lily, you wouldn’t. Why would you do such a thing?” She felt a sharp pain in her stomach and a general fear of Lily suffering a lifetime of unhappiness because of a single hasty decision caused by a brief moment of mortification.

  “I…I don’t know, exactly, except James should never have called off in the first place.” She paused. “I was shocked at the beginning, but now I have come to accept it. I will never marry. I’m sure once Fitzy or Susanna establishes a household, they will need an aunt to care for them and their family.”

  Meta seized her sister’s hand. “I apologize for involving Mr. Drexel further. But please, don’t make a hasty decision because you are angry with me. Dearest, you deserve a future with the man you love, and I know you love James. Don’t let pride stand in your way.”

  “I think I love him. You have always told me I do, but now I’m not so sure.” Her sister shot her a glare. “But no one, not even you, will make me change my mind.”

  * * *

  The following day, Meta sat reading The Talisman to her father. Her normal enthusiastic reading seemed to be missing, and the character-specific voices that delighted him failed to come to her easily. So she asked Fitzy to finish reading the next chapter, then she headed downstairs.

  She felt guilty about Lily’s admonition over her “meddling” and dismissal of James’s olive branch. She had involved Mr. Drexel against his wishes, and he—eventually—had done as she asked. Now she let down her side of the bargain. Regardless of Mr. Drexel’s statement that they would likely never see each other again, she felt she owed him an explanation about why his attempts to rectify the situation caused by his field guide failed, and Lily refused to accept James’s addresses. Meta didn’t know how Mr. Drexel would respond to this news, but she could envision two scenarios. In the first, he’d use a single wry word to say, “I told you so,” and in the second, he might turn into the bear and bite her head off.

  Since she also needed to inform him that the Learned Ladies wished his attendance at a picnic, she decided to not reveal those cards until after she told him about Lily. Maybe if Lily’s refusal angered him, she could restore his good will by the news of possible new investors.

  Thankfully, the combination of a sunny day and ingestion of an entire pot of tea had put her in good spirits. So when she bounded up the steps of the Drexels’ town house, she found herself eager to meet him.

  The Drexels’ housekeeper, Mrs. Morris, answered the door. A friendly, older woman with bright blue eyes, she explained that the younger Mr. Drexel was not at home, and she did not know when he’d return. In fact, since he had failed to come home last night, he might be expected at any time. If Meta wished to, she could speak to the senior Mr. Drexel while she waited for the son.

  “Is staying out all night a usual habit for him?” Meta asked.

  Mrs. Morris smiled. “When young, he spent the evenings out more often than at home, if I remember rightly. He’s become more serious in the last two years. Come this way then, Mrs. Russell,” the housekeeper said, leading her to the parlor and announcing her before taking her leave.

  In the room’s rear, far from the bow window and the street, she found the senior Mr. Drexel drawing something that appeared to be a gear.

  The older man must have difficulty with his eyes, because he held the paper close to his face as he worked. Upon her approach, he stood and greeted her warmly. “Good day, Mrs. Russell. What a delight it is to see you again. George is not at home but should return anytime. In the meantime, please take a seat and tell me all the news about your family. How is that remarkable brother of yours getting along down at the tunnel site? I saw him myself there two days ago, but I was in the company of other board members and therefore not able to have a word with him. Does he like his new job?”

  “Yes, indeed, Fitzy spends his time at the tunnel, but when I do see him, he can speak of little
else.”

  Mr. Michael Drexel laughed, a gesture that made his wrinkles fade so he appeared more like George.

  Meta enjoyed his company, because the older man always maintained a cheerful attitude. Unlike his son, she harbored no expectations that he might transform into a bear. Now sitting here enjoying a hearty laugh, he reminded her of his son’s more charming qualities.

  “Fitzy told me he feels like he has fallen into heaven every time he descends into that pit.” She took a long step over an iron model of a wheel, then sat in a tub chair with a well-worn ivory seat. “He wakes each morning in delight, anticipating the wonders he will see that day. When he returns home in the evening, he cannot speak fast enough to convey every detail he observed. I doubt he gets more than a few hours’ sleep.”

  Her companion laughed again heartily. “George was like that too when young. Sarah, my wife,” he glanced at the ceiling for a fleeting second, “was worried about George’s lack of sleep. I told her not to fuss. The boy was young and sleep is specific to an individual. If George needed sleep, he would have taken it.”

  “I understand your wife has suffered a stroke. Please accept my sympathies. It must be unbearably difficult. My own father has lost his sense, and I deeply miss the man I grew up with. Every day I find something I would like to tell him or say to myself, ‘Wouldn’t Father enjoy hearing this?’ Perhaps on occasion I see a flicker of comprehension in his eyes, but it is always a false one. But a spouse is different somehow than a parent. Had my husband lost his mind, or remained unconscious, instead of dying within days after his accident, I cannot imagine how much harder it would have been for me. Again, you have my condolences and regard.”

  He gave her a smile bigger than she expected. “You understand, thank you. Jane and I are not unhappy. Unlike your father, she retains full comprehension. She just lost the ability to speak clearly and walk without pain. Those are the facts of our life now, and we make the best of it. When she is sleeping, I tend to my affairs and help George when I can. But during the day, I read to her.” He blushed. “I know you will consider me a sentimental man, but we also hold hands. You would think after forty-one years of marriage, holding your spouse’s hand would be a commonplace occurrence—like a passing compliment, felt for a second, then lost. But when I hold her hand, she breathes easier, and I do too. Neither of us would rather do anything else. We must appear rather foolish in our old age.”