by Joan Smith
Mama sat listening with all the attention usually reserved for her reading of marble-covered novels. “The poor girl. What a lot she has been through. Belle is going to do a little something for her.”
Thus far there had been no opportunity to divulge the extent of my charity, and the present moment was not opportune either, so I would reveal the truth later, when we were rid of our audience. Ettie’s head appeared at the doorway, beckoning me.
“It’s nearly time for dinner. Are they staying?” she asked.
They both agreed without so much as a token refusal. We dined informally, in our afternoon clothes. Dinner was merry, with the case our sole topic of conversation. I thought Mr. Duke might have the grace to leave after dinner, but he had his sitting breeches on that night. We left the gentlemen to their port, and I outlined to Mama my intentions with regard to the house.
It took a little getting used to. “Do you think—the whole thing, Belle?” she asked. I knew how she felt, but I knew too that a little deeper thinking would show her the rightness of my decision. Graham, though he was not the paragon I once imagined, had shown no evidence of abandoning his illicit family. He was by no means so dark a villain as Eliot. His whole plan to recover the money had been foolishly chivalrous, really. I expected an argument from Esther, for it was understood that my windfall would be shared by the whole family. She appeared completely disinterested.
“That is generous of you,” she complimented. “I doubt I should give her all the money, if it were mine. Then you will be returning to Bath with Mama soon?”
“We shall all be returning!”
She colored up and agreed. “That’s what I meant, of course.” She didn’t fool me for a minute. I knew now why Duke was sticking like a burr. Before the night was over, either Mama or I would be asked for her hand.
I think that without advice from Mr. Maitland, Duke would have spoken to me. His wily mentor directed him to our more biddable mama and engineered the thing in such a way that I was left out of it entirely. Des came to the door and said, “Mrs. Haley, Duke would like to see you for a moment in the dining room.”
When she rose to go, I got up with her, “Not you, Belle,” he said, taking hold of my hand.
Esther sat looking as innocent as a mouse in a cheese room. “I have to get my embroidery,” she said, and darted from the room to listen at the keyhole. Esther had never embroidered a stitch in her life. She didn’t even own a needle.
I ran after her. “Esther, what have you arranged with Duke?”
“You’ll see soon enough. And don’t bother trying to talk me out of it, Belle. I’ll marry him if I want to.”
“But you can’t know you want to so soon! You hardly know the man.”
“I know him better than you knew Graham. At least he hasn’t got a mistress and a by-blow stashed away in a corner. Besides, we don’t plan to get married right away. He only wants permission to court me.” She left me without much to say, but it was clear she wanted my approval. “You don’t dislike him, do you?”
“I’m coming to like him better as I get to know him,” I admitted. Who was I to prate of “not knowing” a man? Or of hasty engagements, for that matter? She had known him as long as I’d known Desmond. I hurried back to the saloon to discover if this betrothal business was contagious.
“I suppose you put Duke up to this,” I said to Desmond.
“It isn’t a proposal, but only permission to court her.”
“Does he plan to remove to Bath?”
“If necessary. My half of the job is to convince you to remain on at Elm Street a little longer. Till Christmas, actually—only a month. We both thought Christmas a romantic time for an engagement.”
There was some little ambiguity in that “both.”
“To give us all time to become better acquainted,” he added blandly, and walked to the sofa.
“If Mr. Duke has some hidden virtues, you must advise him to reveal them without delay.”
“His good nature is evident to the unprejudiced eye. He doesn’t gamble; he’s not a womanizer; he loves her. And she appears to return the honor. His little human failings need not concern you unduly. After all, you won’t have to live with him. He’s a sound man. What more can you want in a brother-in-law?”
“At least six inches! He’s not as tall as I am.”
“He’s taller than Esther. A man’s value isn’t measured in inches.”
I considered this unlikely gentleman as a brother-in-law and proceeded to the next matter of importance. “He’s well-to-do, at least, I believe you said?”
“A regular nabob. A baronial estate in Sussex and a mansion in Belgrave Square. You will have an opportunity to see the latter tomorrow, if all goes well, and the former at Christmas. He hopes to have you all there for the holiday.”
“Both” had become “you,” not “us,” and my spirits flagged accordingly. “You spend the Christmas holiday in London, do you, Des?”
“No, I’m a near neighbor of Duke’s in Sussex. That’s how we became bosom beaux. I hoped to induce you to visit me for New Year’s. I usually have a ball. Liz and her husband will be with me for the season, or I would be joining Duke’s party.”
This sounded interesting enough that I cast no more spokes in Duke’s wheel. “It is in Mama’s hands. It is to her you should be telling these things, not to me.”
“Duke is telling her, if he is following my instructions. My job was to convince you, Belle. Are you interested?”
The glow in his eye denoted more than concern for Duke’s success. “I shall abide by my Mama’s decision.”
“But before I speak to her, do you dislike the idea?”
“As long as Esther is happy ...”
“My sweet shrew, I have just been telling you that the failings of a brother-in-law need not concern a lady unduly. I’ll undertake to please Esther—it’s your opinion we’re discussing.”
I revised the meaning of a few pronouns and understood that his speaking to Mama was on his behalf and my own, not Duke’s. I listened in a trance as he continued. “Could you be happy with a man who consorts daily with the ragtag and bobtail of society, and who occasionally serves you with a warrant? I will undertake to remove Grant from my household if you really dislike him.”
“No!”
His brows rose swiftly, and a stiffness entered his body, requiring me to hasten on and make myself clear. “I begin to understand Mr. Grant’s language. It won’t be necessary for him to leave.”
The stiffness melted, and his arms folded around me like a warm blanket. His voice in my ear was ragged with relief. “You gave me a bit of a turn there. Offering to dispense with Grant was the supreme sacrifice. He’s my lifeline to Stop Hole Abbey. Between Grant and me, we’ll have you pattering flash in no time.”
“Stubble it, Des.”
“Well spoken, moll,” he said, and lifted his head to smile at me. For a moment we gazed at each other in that witless-looking way lovers have. Des appeared quite bereft of common sense, and I knew I was smiling like a moonling, yet I couldn’t stop. Far from being revolted by my expression, he crushed me against him for a merciless kiss. My blood quickened as his lips firmed in attack. I returned every pressure with unladylike force till my scalp tingled and my lungs felt ready to burst. Christmas suddenly seemed very far away.
“It’s early to be asking you for a commitment,” Des said a moment later, “but sometimes later doesn’t come. It flashed into my head when I was looking down Eliot’s gun muzzle that I was going to die and I had never told you I love you, Belle. That’s why I told you at such an inopportune moment this afternoon. I don’t need a year to make up my mind, and I think you’re like me in that respect. At least, you seem capable of hating me at the drop of a hat, so your emotions must be easily engaged,” he added, quizzing me with a smile.
A bustling in the hallway announced that the others were joining us, and we jumped to our feet in guilty haste. It would be hard to say which smile was broad
er, but I think Mr. Duke won the day. His smile dwindled as he caught sight of me, but he came forward manfully for my congratulations.
“You’re saddled with me now, Miss Haley,” he said, rubbing his palms against his trousers to remove the perspiration before touching me. Something in my face told him he was safe. He laughed, and instead of shaking my hand, he reached up and placed a brotherly smack on my chin, then jumped back, astonished at his own daring.
“Am I to congratulate you, Des?” he asked.
“She got me” was Des’s refined way of announcing my capitulation.
“She has agreed to consider an offer,” I explained.
I felt a little sorry for Mama, who was left out in the cold. We broke open a bottle of Graham’s champagne and discussed our future, the only bone of contention being which of us should have the pleasure of Mama’s company, though she was much inclined to return to Bath alone.
“Well, girls, the trip didn’t work out so badly after all, did it?” Mama asked happily. She would have had to go some length to outdo herself on that understatement!
This and other details were to be worked out later. Des claimed his aunt was still interested in my house, and there was a lawyer to consult about arranging Kate Norman’s trust fund. It seemed December would be busy, but not busy enough to preclude our courting.
The little house on Elm Street would ring with much merry joy, and I sincerely hoped that Desmond’s aunt, or whoever bought the house, would be as happy in it as I was at that moment. I knew I would never have been a tenth as happy with Graham. I had learned to forgive him—how could I not, when he was indirectly the cause of my good fortune? I would forgive and then forget. It was time to bury the past and start a new leaf.
Copyright © 1986 by Joan Smith
Originally published by Fawcett Crest (ISBN 0449208990)
Electronically published in 2014 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads
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No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without permission of the publisher. For more information, contact Belgrave House, 190 Belgrave Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94117-4228
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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.
