The Sweet and Spicy Regency Collection

by Dorothy McFalls

  “Of course,” Winnie said, much to May’s chagrin.

  “I will find her another, more suitable gentleman,” Uncle Sires said.

  May raised hands in alarm at the prospect of being bartered away to yet another penniless gentleman. “No uncle, I will not agree to such madness. I have no need of a man in my life. In fact, my mind is made up. I will never marry.”

  “If you not marry, child,” Uncle Sires said as he poked May in the chest with his stubby finger, “what shall you do? Starve?”

  Chapter 20

  Radford looked on as May denied her need for passion in her life. She had been pushed to the background for so long that she’d all but forgotten how to be herself. Radford saw her as she’d been forced to become. Her spirit dampened. Her urges restrained. Just like the shy ceramic sprite hiding in his pocket, May had completely withdrawn from the exciting world calling to her.

  He could not let such a crime continue. As long as he still breathed, he’d free her. Not an easy task, he knew. His help wasn’t exactly welcome. Wynter had been right in his assessment of that one. Radford had bruised May’s pride when he’d boldly announced that she should marry him and let him solve all her problems.

  No matter how deep she hid herself, her independent spirit would always shine through. That was one reason he loved her so fiercely.

  Love.

  The mere thought of being under the control of such a tender emotion scared Radford all the way down to his aching toes. Admitting to such soft feelings was a peril he wasn’t ready to face. She’d rebuffed his attentions more than once. May would have to prove her feelings for him before he’d risk the humiliation of declaring himself in love.

  Radford stood stiffly in the middle of the Earl of Redfield’s study and watched helplessly as May faced down her uncle. He took some comfort knowing that with so many protectors she wasn’t in danger of suffering injury from Redfield’s hand.

  Though Radford hadn’t been permitted to see to May himself two nights before, the doctor had recounted the bruises lining her arms and legs. Wynter had described in detail how the earl had dragged May to this very study while everyone in the household worried after her.

  Her life had been in danger. Radford planned to use every power available to him to see that she never faced the same threat again.

  The night before, Radford and Wynter had closeted themselves in Radford’s study while they met with Bannor. The three agreed that their strongest weapon against a man like the earl would be the threat of exposing the changes in his dying mother’s will.

  Like many in the ton, the earl lived an expensive lifestyle. Bannor had produced a long list of creditors to whom the earl owed money. With the income from his family’s estates, he’d have no trouble paying his bills. But if he were to lose a large portion of that income to his sister, as stipulated in this new will, the earl would find himself in a real pickle.

  If that tidbit of information were to become common knowledge, the earl’s creditors and shopkeepers would all be lining up to demand cash payments. He would lose his creditability. For a man of his self-importance, such a scenario would be like suffering a mortal blow—exactly the kind of weapon Radford had hoped to find.

  He and Wynter had forced their way into the earl’s townhouse today to warn him that they were prepared to share the details of his mother’s new will with his creditors if he continued to cause trouble in May’s life.

  They hadn’t expected to find a crowd.

  The Duke of Newbury standing beside May like a lion protecting his cub had certainly been a surprise.

  A welcome one at that.

  The night before Bannor had reported another interesting piece of information . . . this one about May’s father. As Radford had feared, her father had indeed been born to a wandering gypsy. The father of the ill-conceived birth, who in turn was May’s grandfather, was the eight Duke of Newbury, the current duke’s father.

  May was the Duke of Newbury’s niece? That information, combined with a favorable nod from the duke, would give May full entrance into fashionable society. A favorable nod—one that the stingy Earl of Redfield had never deigned to give his niece—would make a marriage between her and a viscount a socially acceptable possibility.

  I will never marry, she’d just declared. Radford would have to dredge up all his forgotten charms to win her trust and her hand. The very thought of fighting such a battle made his every breath surge with new life . . . this was truly a woman worth living for.

  “No matter what happens, I will never starve,” May said to her uncle. There was a delightful fire smoldering behind her violet eyes. Small as she was, she stood straight and tall before her uncle. A valiant David standing up to frightening Goliath.

  Radford could not feel more proud. She was special, one of a kind. Capturing such an elusive fey spirit wouldn’t be easy. He would start the pursuit by proving his loyalty.

  “Redfield, I have come to seek a private word with you,” he said with great authority. He tugged on his waistcoat. “It concerns a matter of utmost importance, and no, it cannot be delayed further.”

  May’s frown deepened. “I don’t see how you could have—”

  Radford pressed his finger to her lips. He’d rather enjoyed it when she’d done so to him, so he only happily returned the gesture. She colored prettily as she looked around and took notice of the room filled with raised eyebrows.

  She’d done it to herself, setting the intimate tone between them in such a public way. Proper ladies did not press their finger to a gentleman’s lips. Nor did they call a gentleman by his given name. Such scandalous public behaviors only alluded to more intimate happenings behind closed doors.

  After today, a swift marriage would no doubt be expected.

  “I insist,” Radford said softly.

  Her blush deepening, she gave a sharp nod.

  “I wish to take part in this,” the duke said. Though his tone was amiable, the accompanying expression conveyed his unbending demand to be included. His interest in May’s future pleased Radford enormously.

  With a grimace twisted enough to make a baby scream, the earl led Radford and the Duke of Newbury into a small adjoining library.

  Radford kept his demands short and to the point while the duke looked on, nodding occasionally. The earl remained silent, a grim expression fixed on his face.

  “I don’t understand why you’d trouble yourself so over the child,” Redfield said after a lengthy silence. “She’s a gypsy bastard’s daughter . . . not good for anything.”

  Radford’s knuckles itched for violence. “Do I have your cooperation?”

  Redfield chewed his bottom lip for several more silent moments. A highly polished brass clock on an oak mantel ticked loudly. “Yes, damn it. Take her away from me. I wash my hands of the chit.”

  “And Lady Winifred,” the duke said. “You will treat her with the greatest kindness or you will find the ton learning of her impending fortune.”

  Redfield bristled. His chin shot in the air. “Everything I have done, I have done for the betterment of my family. I have always taken care of all its members.”

  “Then you will have nothing to worry about,” the duke said as he inclined his head slightly.

  Of course Radford had no intention of waiting to see if the earl was a man of his word. His mind was already churning as they returned to the study. If May ultimately refused his suit, he would simply have to pay for a Bow Street runner to keep an eye on her.

  After the second chance she’d given him at living, Radford was determined that May would never find herself in a position of being alone again. She’d never be forced to act out of desperation and beg for charity as she had on their first meeting.

  “Is this mystery matter cleared up to your liking, my lord?” May asked crisply upon his return.

  Radford pursed his lips, barely able to contain a smile at her futile attempt to separate herself from her previous slip, demonstrating her affection for him to t
he room. “I believe so, Miss Sheffers.”

  He retrieved his cane from the floor. Bending down to fetch the damned stick proved difficult with his stiff leg. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Lady Winifred placing a staying hand on May’s arm when she moved to assist him.

  Smart woman, Lady Winifred. A wedding date would have to be set before the end of the week if May had acted so uncharacteristically and provided him—the very man she had once vowed to never assist again—with a kindly hand. Radford trusted Wynter, the duke, and Lady Iona to keep their tongues from wagging. Mr. Tumblestone, however, might not be so discrete. He’d just lost a promised fortune by losing May’s hand. The picture he could paint would be less than flattering for both May and Radford.

  There was no need to further feed the speculation already blazing through the tearooms. The gentle wooing he planned for May would have to be conducted in public and conform to the strictest dictates of propriety.

  “Miss Sheffers,” he said as soon as he straightened. “If you are agreeable, I would wish to call on you at the Newbury residence this afternoon.”

  Her jaw stiffened, a feat Radford had thought impossible. Her features already appeared sorely strained. She opened her mouth to object. He could see disapproval bright in her eyes.

  “Of course, Evers, Miss Sheffers would be delighted to entertain you,” the duke answered before May had a chance to utter what surely promised to be a crushingly wicked refusal.

  “Delighted?” she blurted, her ire truly pricked now. Her eyelids snapped several times as she huffed. Lady Winifred pinched the back of her niece’s hand.

  Radford winced in sympathy for the sharp pain she must have suffered . . . to her hand and her pride. May obediently bowed her head. “I would be delighted,” she murmured.

  She was quite the accomplished liar, Radford thought with a quick grin. He gushed his fondest wishes on Lady Winifred, Lady Iona, and the duke before sweeping from the room. Wynter followed like a happy pup.

  “I beg a moment,” the duke called just as Radford worked his way down the earl’s front stoop.

  Radford turned and waited for the duke to join him. Wynter, with incredible tact, wandered over to his landau and pretended to inspect a wheel.

  “Yes, your grace?” Radford tensed at what promised to be an awkward discussion. Lady Lillian’s heart would be broken. There was simply no way to avoid it.

  The duke might even wish to punish Radford for causing his lovely daughter such pain. And who could blame him?

  “I do apologize for any embarrassment that I might cause,” Radford said quickly, hoping to stave off the worst of the duke’s infamous anger.

  “About my daughter,” the duke spoke as if he hadn’t heard a word of the apology. “When she is to marry, it will be to a man whose heart isn’t otherwise occupied. I no longer approve of your interest in her. You will no longer be permitted to escort her to any future affairs.”

  Radford couldn’t believe his luck. “Thank you, your grace.”

  The duke, by putting an end to the courtship himself, had just spared Lady Lillian from the shame of being considered jilted. Though no formal announcement had been made, everyone had expected the engagement. If Radford had called on May before the matter with Lady Lillian was settled, it would have left a nasty blot on Lillian’s reputation, one that would be considered by many as shocking as being left standing alone at the altar. Vicious tittering would persist far beyond this summer season as the ton continued to speculate on what Radford had found lacking in Lillian.

  He clasped the duke’s hand and shook briskly. “Thank you. From the bottom of my heart, I have never been so pleased to have a father find fault in me and in my desire to wed his daughter.”

  * * * *

  “You needn’t continue to watch for the bounder like some excitable spaniel,” the Duchess of Newbury said to May with considerable disgust. “He won’t be coming.”

  May was seated near one of the two large windows in the Newbury’s drawing room. The cool, sage-colored walls created a false air of calm in the room. The duchess was correct on one account: May’s heart was beating like a nervous spaniel’s.

  For the last hour she’d been gazing at her newest book, a discourse on American flora and fauna, but not reading a word. Every sound drew her eyes to the front garden, where a storm was brewing overhead. Dark clouds rolled across the sky like great dragons.

  Radford had said he’d come and call on her. Though it was the last thing she thought she’d wanted, May found herself turning breathless as the day drew late. It was Iona who had convinced her to don the bright violet gown, a dress May had never before worn.

  “A messenger arrived several minutes ago. The viscount sends his regrets. I am sorry.” The duchess’ tone told another story. The Duke of Newbury had returned home and announced that he’d told Radford to look elsewhere for a wife. Never had May witnessed such dismay. The duchess had collapsed when she’d been unable to change the duke’s mind.

  “The viscount is not good enough for Lillian,” the duke had said with finality. “She will just have to find another man to whom to cling.”

  At first Lillian took the news calmly, shrugging elegantly and declaring there were many more fit men on the marriage block. But after her mother had fallen into a fit of hysterics, Lillian followed.

  The poor duke had to sooth two wailing ladies while standing firm on his decision. May felt lucky to have such a strong-willed man on her side. She’d too been close to tears by the end of the ordeal.

  Consequently, neither the duchess nor Lillian took a favorable view of the idea of Radford paying a call on May that afternoon.

  “You must agree that his wishing to come here was in very bad taste,” the duchess said as May continued to stare out the window. She still couldn’t believe that Radford would ask to call on her and then suddenly change his mind. Had something happened? Whatever could be wrong? “Of course, after suffering Lillian’s rebuff, he’d want to find a new woman to parade on his arm. You were likely the most convenient. His pride must have suffered quite a blow. He was so devoted to Lillian, you must realize, ready to marry her.”

  “Yes,” May agreed in the hopes of getting the duchess to just leave her to brood in peace. She certainly didn’t need anyone to remind her how she wasn’t quite up to crack when it came to the marriage mart.

  When the duchess continued to hover, May closed her book and stood. “Pardon me, your grace,” May said sedately. “I believe I’ll go change. If you wouldn’t mind, I believe I should spend a few hours at the cottage helping Portia pack up the household.”

  “Of course, dear. You must be feeling anxious to begin your new profession.”

  * * * *

  Dressed in a plain calico cotton dress with a kerchief in her hair, May assisted her housekeeper in packing up the shabby belongings she’d grown to love. The battered silver candleholder she’d bartered from a shipping merchant had become an old friend. May ran her finger over the pitted and dented metal and remembered the nights she and her aunt had spent in their cozy parlor, laughing while playing card games with a ruthless abandon.

  Those days were over. The reminders were being packed away in soft cloths to be cherished sometime in the distant future.

  May’s hand then stilled on the tiny porcelain figurine she had carelessly left sitting on an occasional table two days before. At the time, she’d rejected the dancing fairy figure Radford had purchased at the fair for her. The events of the past several days had been so chaotic, she hadn’t been able to take a moment to wonder about the gift. Why give her such a lovely present?

  It wasn’t at all proper for a gentleman to be giving presents to an unmarried woman . . . not unless his interests in her were well known and accepted. It was even more improper for May to have accepted the gift.

  Yet, he hadn’t let her reject it.

  Just looking at the laughing sprite, a figure lost in a world of bliss, burned a hole in May’s heart. She set it a
side but couldn’t bring herself to wrap the creature in a strip of linen and hide her away in a box.

  She was doing the right thing, she assured herself. Her aunt had reluctantly agreed with the decision to leave. And though she’d miss her aunt dearly, this was the only way. Staying so close to Radford would hurt far too much.

  Leaving Bath was truly her only rational option. Too many memories lived on the streets of this charming town. Staying in the city and having to relive them everyday would eventually stain those beautiful scenes.

  Radford would eventually move on . . . and so should she.

  “Oh dear me,” Portia called out from the back of the house. “Oh dear, oh dear.”

  May dropped the packing linens she was holding and dashed to the kitchen. Portia stood with her hands clutched to her chest while a creamy colored horse craned its neck through an open window. Its long lips covered a bright orange carrot and sucked it into its mouth.

  “Princess,” May whispered.

  The filly, hearing its name, jerked its head up and stared at May. Its long lashes fluttered as it blinked its great big eyes.

  “Whatever are we going to do?” Portia asked. “I can’t seem to scare the beast away, and she’s making a shambles of my kitchen.”

  Earthenware canisters on the worktop lay toppled on their sides, contents spilling out. Fresh vegetables were scattered all over a flour-coated floor.

  “I’ll keep her occupied,” May whispered, cautious not to startle the large horse. “Go fetch the Viscount Evers. He must be terribly worried about losing this troublemaker here.”

  “Yes, miss. You be careful, miss. I’ve never seen a horse act so queerly.” Portia picked up her skirts and ran toward the front door as fast as her legs could carry her.

  May kept Princess calm by singing a bedtime song she vaguely remembered hearing her mother sing. A fresh set of painful memories rode into the room on the backs of the long forgotten notes she produced.

  Princess seemed to calm in response to the soft sounds. The filly lowered her head and nibbled happily on a head of cabbage as May repeated the chorus.