That last word hung in the air, dripping with layers of contempt. May had trouble separating the disdain Lady Evers felt for May from the lifetime of disapproval she’d had heaped on her by her uncle.
“I wonder. Will you call her grace a liar? Will you deny that this is your heritage?”
May slowly turned her head from side to side. “The duchess is well known for speaking the truth,” she whispered. “I do not dispute her words.”
Lady Evers smiled broadly. “It pleases me to see that you are indeed a reasonable girl. Tell me, then. Are we in agreement? Do you see now how marriage between you and my son would be a disaster?”
May nodded as tears flooded her eyes. “I do, as does he. He has never offered such a boon.”
* * * *
“Please reconsider, miss. I beg you to reconsider,” Lottie said, wringing her overworked hands while May continued to stubbornly fuss with an unruly strand of hair. A slab of plaster covered a small wound high on May’s forehead. Though pulling a brush through her hair tugged at the injury, making her feel like sharp needles were pricking her scalp, May felt it was a small price to pay. She wanted to make herself appear hale and hearty for her aunt. Nothing should upset Winnie or her recovery.
“His lordship said you were to remain abed,” Lottie complained. “I would’ve never brought up the walking dress Lady Iona Newbury had delivered if I’d known you’d insist on wearing it. His lordship will be most upset when he learns of this.”
May brushed her hands over the skirt of the faded violet gown she’d hastily donned. “I have no wish to upset the viscount. He has been most kind.”
May just needed to escape. Quite simply, her aunt needed her. Radford didn’t. Staying under his roof for a moment longer would only damage her heart further. Just admitting her feelings to his mother had been torture. Hearing Lady Evers put voice to how wrong May was for him nearly killed her.
All her life, she’d been wrong. Unsuitable.
She could not stay.
Despite the slight dizziness, May was determined to straighten out the messes she’d made and move on with her life. Her mind had cleared after Lady Evers’ visit.
All she required was courage.
“No one ever complained I was lacking for want of courage.”
“What’s that, miss?”
“Nothing, Lottie.” She wrapped her arms around the small maid and gave the beleaguered woman a tight hug. “You’ve served me well. You’ve made me feel comfortable, and I thank you.”
May marched from the room and down the stairs with her head held high. A bout of dizziness interrupted her pace only once . . . and that was after she chanced to catch sight of Radford through a window.
He was, strolling alongside the house with Wynter at his side. They looked to be heading toward his stables. A gold-handled cane thumped on the ground with each step. Bless him, he had finally committed to treating himself right and giving his leg time to heal. May could barely discern a limp as he deftly relied on that sturdy cane. Like Wynter, he was impeccably dressed, though somewhat less formally. A pair of brow raising buff-colored doeskins hugged his legs. A subdued green and white striped waistcoat covered a crisp white shirt. He carried a plain olive frock draped over his arm and his shimmering beaver hat between two fingers. His cravat was tied in a relaxed four-in-hand style.
All and all, May thought he looked devastatingly handsome. She could see why the ladies of the ton used to speak of him in scandalized whispers.
She stood transfixed while watching the distance grow between them. A great pressure built in her chest. She was right to flee. Staying hurt too much.
With a stiff upper lip, May continued down the hall and met Iona, who’d been waiting for her in the front parlor. Her dearest friend took one look at her disheveled appearance and burst into tears.
“I was so worried,” Iona wailed. “What ever would I do if I lost you?”
“Oh don’t be a silly fuss-pot,” May scolded, feeling suddenly embarrassed by the trouble she’d created. “Don’t speak as if I’d been on death’s door. I suffered nothing more than a slight knock to the head.” She gave the top of her head a rap with her knuckle, which she instantly regretted. Sharp sparks of pain rippled through her skull.
“See?” May said through gritted teeth. “Nothing to worry about. Please take me home now. My housekeeper must be beside herself with worry.”
Iona hooked her arm with May’s. “I will do no such thing. Portia’s already been moved to my family’s townhouse. Papa insists you stay with us while your aunt recovers.”
Stay at the Newbury household and watch the wedding preparations up close? May doubted her heart would be able to bear it.
Iona stomped her tiny foot. “You know this is the only way. It’s improper for a young lady to live alone . . . unchaperoned.”
Of course May knew that. How foolish for her to believe she could suspend the rules of society.
The sooner she accepted her fate, the better.
“Very well,” May conceded. With a sorrowful Jeffers watching on, she and Iona walked arm in arm through the front entranceway and down the front steps of Radford’s Longbranch House. A ducal carriage waited on the road just a few steps away. Two footmen dressed in crimson livery leapt down from their perch to sweep open the carriage door and lower the steps.
Iona gave May’s arm a tight squeeze.
“You will survive this,” she whispered.
May swallowed hard, realizing then, after stealing one last glance up at Longbranch House, that tears threatened yet again.
“What’s this?” Radford called from the side of the house. Appropriately dressed now with his olive frock buttoned up and his beaver hat firmly set on the top of his head, he approached quickly with a hopping gait, letting the cane do most of the work for his stiff leg. He took May by the arm and pulled her several feet away from Iona and the carriage. “What in bloody hell are you doing out of bed?”
His voice shook.
May blinked heavily, praying he wouldn’t scrutinize her too carefully and notice how close she’d been to letting those blasted tears in her eyes spill.
“I am well enough, thank you,” she said.
“You are—?” He tossed off his hat and dragged his fingers through his dark hair. “You-you are ungrateful, that’s what you are. How dare you sneak away from me like a thief?”
He flicked a nervous glance toward Iona and a longer, more predatory look in the direction of the fast advancing Lord Nathan Wynter.
Still glaring at Lord Nathan, he moderated his voice. “It would please me if you’d grant me a moment of your time, Miss Sheffers.” He turned his sharp jade-colored eyes on her then. “Just a few minutes to listen to what I have to say.”
May’s heart thundered in her ears as she considered the request. Of course she’d agree to listen to him. She’d happily listen to whatever he wanted to talk about for the rest of her days.
“For just a minute,” she managed to say coolly with a glance at the sky as if she could read the time from the position of the sun.
Radford acted as if she’d just agreed to give him the world. With the most glorious smile, he scooped his discarded hat from the warm grasses and led May back into the house, rudely leaving Iona stranded outside with Lord Nathan.
Neither Iona nor Lord Nathan, who were grinning like fools, appeared upset in the least.
“Please, sit,” he said softly, motioning to a petite chair just steps inside the front parlor.
With a sharp nod, May did as he bid. She took several deep breaths, desperately trying to slow her racing heart before deliberately folding her hand primly on her lap. She turned her head up and stared at him with a carefully executed blank expression. “What is it you wish to say?”
Radford looked so serious. What grave matter did he wish to discuss? Was he, like his mother, planning to scold her for her shocking behavior the evening before?
Probably.
Her fearful es
cape from Uncle Sires apparently caused quite a stir. Even Iona had muttered that recalling the scene had occupied the gossips in the Pump Room that morning. She held her breath, praying that Radford, a man who’d once begged for her to consider him a friend, wouldn’t join with society and condemn her out-of-hand.
“That violet color brightens your eyes,” he said with utter sincerity.
“What?” Certainly Radford hadn’t brought her back inside the house to comment on the color of her—her—
What in the devil was he commenting on?
“Your walking dress.” He made a vague, almost embarrassed, gesture in her direction. “The material is faded. But the color, it suits you.”
“Thank you,” May said, stiffening. There was more. His blurted compliment came from nerves. She knew him well enough to recognize that he needed to build up to whatever he planned to say.
“How are you feeling?” he asked after a brief silence. “You are free from suffering severe pains?”
“Yes, yes.” May held her hands in front of her like a shield. “Please, do not fret over me. You have much more important matters—”
“More important?” His brows creased. “Nothing could possibly be more important than your well-being, May. Nothing at all.”
Oh, if only that could be true . . .
Radford started pacing then. His cane thudded on the Axminster carpet with a regular tattoo. “You don’t understand.”
May was afraid she understood too well. “Oh, Radford,” she said with a sigh. “You must think of your family first. I’m like a new toy. This fascination you have in me is fleeting. The shine will wear off far too quickly.”
“You don’t understand.” He kept a steady pace as he continued methodically across the room. “I knew of your uncle’s plans. I knew he might cause you trouble. And yet . . . yet, I failed to protect you. In fact, my own damned horse nearly killed you.”
“I wasn’t nearly killed,” she whispered. Watching him take all the blame for her troubles pricked her deeply. No man had ever acted so gallantly or made himself her champion.
Mary Wollstonecraft would not approve. A woman should always serve as her own champion. As much as she wished for him to take charge and fix her horrid messes, she could not allow him to do so.
If you love him just a little, you must let him go, Lady Evers’ words echoed in her head.
“I never asked for your assistance,” she said.
“That is true.” He stopped and turned toward her. “You didn’t ask, you demanded. That first day you stormed into my study like a delightful harridan, you demanded I help you.”
Oh dear . . . she had done exactly that.
“I-I never intended . . . ”
“May, my lovely overlooked May,” he said. He began to slowly return to her. “I’ve considered this for quite a while and can only find one solution. You and I must marry.”
The words hung in the air like a dream teetering between sleep and forgetfulness. If she were to wake up and acknowledge his proposal, the magic would all but disappear. Reality would sadly return.
“No.” May rose from the chair slowly, afraid her legs would be too watery to support her. “Please, I cannot.” She backed toward the door.
Radford advanced with a determined glint sparkling in his eyes. “We must.”
With a steady gait he moved closer, moving as assuredly as a hungry falcon stalking his prey. “It’s the only way I can honorably protect you from your uncle and his scheming.”
The breath caught in May’s throat as his burning gaze kept her pinned to where she stood.
“Besides, May, we will suit, you and I. You will—”
“No.” May said forcefully. No matter how much she wished for it, no dream could replace reality. She shook her head from side-to-side to deny his words. “No. You would only grow to hate me. You deserve better than what I have to offer. Much better.”
His jaw dropped slightly as he tilted his head. “You do not hold yourself in high esteem?” Radford asked. He sounded genuinely surprised.
His question cut deep in her soul. “I have eyes . . . and ears. I know very well what I am. I have no pretensions about it.”
“Pretensions?” He tilted his head. If only he didn’t make her long to be the beautiful, graceful woman he wanted for a wife. Perhaps then, the truth wouldn’t be so hard to voice.
“I am a small, stocky woman more suited to the role of washerwoman than gently bred lady, my lord.” Tears burned in her eyes. She would not let them fall. Not for this, not ever for this. “In fact, I am not a gently born woman. My father, you see, is naught but a bastard—his father was a careless gentleman, his mother a wild gypsy.” She turned her head away and regained control over a quivering breath. “I refuse to be ashamed,” she whispered.
“Nor would I ask you to be.” He was suddenly standing in front of her, cupping her face with his gloved hands. “I don’t care about your past. It is your future that concerns me. And you are presently out of options. You are powerless against your uncle’s machinations. I am not.”
Her eyes fluttered closed as she rubbed her cheek against his warm touch.
“Let me do this for you, May. Consent to become my wife.”
If only . . . if only . . .
His touch ignited a host of feelings. Her head spun in the spiraling confusion. The man she loved with her whole heart was proposing to her. Her!
How easy it would be to say yes. She opened her mouth to agree to the madness when she realized what was holding her back.
Though Lady Evers’ words had made an impact, it wasn’t May’s disgraceful birth that was acting as a roadblock. May hadn’t lied when she’d said she wouldn’t be ashamed. Though her parents weren’t much more than a faint memory, she loved them dearly . . . and cherished how they loved each other.
Her parents had defied convention to marry, not out of honor or a desire to champion the other. They had made that difficult decision because of passion.
Though this moment would always live as a miracle in May’s memories, she would also remember the reason she pushed away his hands and kept him at arm’s length before his lips could touch hers. Nowhere in his sincere proposal had Radford mentioned love. He’d vowed to protect her, to do the honorable thing and rescue the maiden in distress. Perhaps he’d even convinced himself that he loved her.
No doubt the constant frustrations over his injuries left him feeling helpless, compelling him to act like St. George and do battle with her dragons. He’d said it himself—in this he felt powerful.
“Please, Radford,” she increased her distance from him. “Please, don’t press me for an answer.”
To deny him would be too painful.
To accept him would be a mistake May couldn’t afford to make.
Chapter 19
Radford watched with utter confusion as May fled his home. Her body trembled as she let a footman convey her up into the Newbury’s ducal carriage.
Lady Iona cast a nervous glance in his direction before following May into the carriage. Within a matter of a few shocked heartbeats the horses were spurred into motion and the wheels were rolling, carrying May out of his life.
“What did I do wrong?”
“What did you say to her?” Wynter aggressively pushed Radford back up the front steps and into the house. “Miss Sheffers looked crushed, absolutely crushed. Not to mention Lady Iona. She’s out of her head with worry for her friend. What in blazes did you do to make things worse?”
Radford led the way to his study where he tore off his frock, peeled away the gloves, and tossed his hat onto a chair. The late summer heat was getting to him, making him crazy.
He poured two glasses of claret and took a deep sip from his glass before offering its twin to Wynter. After muttering something about getting himself in too deep with Lady Iona, Wynter drained the glass with one try.
“Now tell me, Evers, what did you say to upset Miss Sheffers . . . and Lady Iona?”
; Radford pulled at his hair as he remembered how May had paled when he’d detailed the reasons they should wed. “I was rational, calm. I cannot understand her reaction.”
“What exactly did you say to her in this rational, calm manner?”
“Why, I told May that we should marry. To hell with the requirements of the perfect wife, Miss Sheffers needs me. I can help her stand up to her uncle.”
“Bloody hell,” Wynter muttered. He helped himself to another glass of claret. “You actually told her you wanted to marry her to protect her?”
“In a manner, yes.” Just like May, his friend was getting emotional over what should be clear-cut, rational reasoning. Wynter stomped around the study like a wild beast while grumbling curses under his breath.
“Miss Sheffers is a proud woman,” Wynter said after he’d apparently worn himself down. “You saw that the first time she barged into this very room and demanded you listen to her. She does not wish to be coddled or told what is best for her.”
“And when did you become the expert on proposing marriage?” Radford shouted. “I thought you’d vowed to become celibate before agreeing to make such a unbearable commitment.”
“I remember I’d spoken those words less than a minute after you had made a very similar oath. We were both deep in our cups . . . and young, and foolish.”
Radford dropped into his leather desk chair and pursed his lips. “Perhaps we weren’t so foolish. I don’t think I was fated for marriage.” At least not the kind of open, honest partnership he now desired. Meeting May had changed him. Before her, marriage with a woman like Lady Lillian would have fulfilled his family obligations. Now . . . the thought of such a future left him feeling empty.
“Giving up on marriage doesn’t solve our problem,” Wynter pointed out.
“No. It doesn’t,” Radford agreed.
The Sweet and Spicy Regency Collection Page 17
