by Rose Gordon
“You will stay with us a few days, won’t you?” Juliet asked Simon. Without waiting for his response, her face lit and she said, “Oh, you must! On Saturday night the village is having its annual fair. You cannot miss it. Everyone in the village will be there—”
Rae's mind spun. She needed to stop this madness. Now. She opened her mouth to object to Simon staying, but nothing coherent came out.
“—perfect time to announce your betrothal.”
Simon hadn’t considered staying at Crumbles longer than the fifteen minutes it’d take to throttle her. She might not understand all of Society’s rules, but even she had to know that insinuating to her family that they were courting could have some serious ramifications for him.
However, watching her blush and shift in the seat next to him made a brief stay far more appealing.
“I don’t know if I can stay so long,” Simon said as innocently as he could. “I’d hate to impose on your generosity.”
“It’s not an imposition at all,” Juliet countered. “Is it, Patrick?”
“Not at all,” Lord Drakely said, his apparent amusement was growing by the moment. “He’s practically family, after all.”
Beside Simon, Rae looked like she wanted to explode. He schooled his features to remain impassive. “Indeed,” he agreed, boldly pressing his thigh against hers, delighting in the way she nearly leapt out of her skin at the gesture.
A dark red blush covered her cheeks. “Nothing has been decided, yet.”
“Decided?” Lord Drakely snapped his fingers. “Right. Appleton, now I understand the reason for your visit. You want to discuss the contract.”
All humor left Simon. The last thing he wanted to discuss with Lord Drakely was a betrothal contract. He was vaguely aware of the ladies taking their leave. His chair held him captive. “I don’t see the need to rush to make any arrangements,” he said as evenly as he could.
Lord Drakely gave a slow nod and drained his glass. “Well then, Appleton, why don’t we go talk about some of my investments in my study and then rejoin the ladies in the drawing room so they can drive you to the edge of tedium with talk of wedding frippery.”
Simon swore under his breath and followed the viscount to his study. Investments were better than betrothal contracts and far preferred over wedding frippery.
Or perhaps not.
“What the hell are the two of you about?” Lord Drakely said without ceremony as soon as the door to his study banged shut.
“Perhaps I’m not the one you should ask.”
Lord Drakely flopped down onto his black leather divan. “But you’re the one I asked.”
Simon released a breath. “The truth?”
“Is always preferred.” Lord Drakely yanked off his cravat with a grimace.
“Then you’d better ask Rae, because I have no bloody idea what that hoyden is about.”
“Rae?”
Simon scowled at the grinning jackal. “Henrietta.”
Lord Drakely’s eyes glistened with humor. “You must be genuinely smitten.”
“No,” Simon countered. He leaned against the edge of Lord Drakely’s desk and crossed his ankles. “She doesn’t like her name so I helped her find one she preferred.”
Lord Drakely choked on a cough.
“It’s not what you’re thinking,” Simon said, frowning. Why was everyone of Rae’s acquaintance fit for Bedlam?
“Then what is it?”
“If I knew, I’d tell you.” Simon threw his hands into the air. “But I know as much—or less—as you.”
“How is that possible?” Lord Drakely asked.
“Because I’m not privy to female scheming!”
Lord Drakely roared with laughter at that. “Female scheming, indeed,” he said on a chuckle, slapping his open palm on his knee. “I can assure you Henrietta is the last young lady you’d have to worry about trying to scheme her way into marriage with you.”
A dull pain stabbed Simon in the chest. Grimacing, he shoved that traitorous feeling away. “That might have been before you sent her to live with Lady Townson.”
“Juliet was right,” Lord Drakely said quietly. “Lady Townson was good for her.”
“Good for her?” Simon echoed with a snort. “You think scheming about how to trap men into an unwanted marriage is a good trait for a young lady?”
“Unwanted?” Lord Drakely scoffed. He waved a hand through the air. “Actually, I do think it’s a good thing. When I first met Henrietta, I thought she had a personality akin to my quill.”
Simon snorted. “That’s not the Rae I know.”
“No, it seems not.” Lord Drakely shook his head. “You’re like the fine musician who can make the old, dusty pianoforte fill a hall with music.”
“I’m not sure if I’d consider Rae old or dusty.”
“I’m sure she’ll be delighted to hear that,” Lord Drakely said dryly.
“Delighted to hear what?” Lady Drakely asked, coming into her husband’s study, Rae right behind her sister. “Can we assume the arrangements have all been made, then?”
Simon caught Rae’s eye, daring her to speak up and settle this. When she didn’t, he smiled at her sister and said, “I’d say everything is in proper order.”
Rae scarcely heard whatever inane comment Simon just said over the blood thundering in her ears.
“Arrangements?” she said flatly.
“Your dowry,” Juliet said. She looped her arm through Rae’s. “Now our part is to plan the wedding and…”
“May I speak to Simon alone?” Rae cut in.
Drake and Juliet exchanged a look that ended with Drake lifting his left shoulder. Juliet turned back to Rae. “I suppose that’ll be permissible for a few moments.” She bit her lip. “But the door is to remain open.”
Well, of course it was, Rae didn’t want to actually have to marry Simon!
An amused expression on his face, Simon strolled over to her and offered her his arm. “Where shall we go, m’dear?” he asked as they walked toward the door of Drake’s office. He slowed his steps. “The creek?”
Her face flushed thirty degrees hotter.
“Your bedchamber?” he offered again.
Rage shot through her and she dared not chance a glance over her left shoulder to see if Drake and Juliet heard his scandalous statement. She squeezed the crook of his arm as hard as she could and started walking forward.
Ever the gentleman, he walked forward.
“Just who do you think you are to suggest such a thing?” she hissed as soon as they were in the hall.
“Your betrothed,” he said with a wide grin.
She pierced him with her eyes.
He laughed.
“Why must you always mock me?” she burst out, yanking her hand away from his arm.
Simon folded his arms over his chest. “I don’t always mock you.”
“Yes, you do.”
The wretch rocked back on his heels. “When?”
“Just now.” She ground her teeth. Did he require a reminder? “The creek? My bedchamber?”
“Such a fetching color.”
Rae pressed her lips into a thin line. “What are you about?”
“Pardon? Did you mean what am I talking about?”
“No, I meant exactly what I said: what are you about?”
Simon poked out his bottom lip and tapped his index finger against his chin. “Well, if I were given a vote, I’d be in favor of legalizing whiskey stills and fiercely oppose being served turtle soup every time I am invited to a dinner party. I’d like to see taxes abolished and our country to do something to stay at peace with France. I’d also be in favor of doubling the portions of clotted cream served with biscuits and fewer servants present at dinner—”
“If you don’t answer my question you won’t be present at dinner.”
“Oh?” Simon waggled his eyebrows at her. “Will you be joining me—” he dropped his voice to a stage whisper— “wherever I might be?”
&nb
sp; “On a steam packet bound for the unknown?” She shook her head. “No, I’ll be here.”
Simon leaned forward, pressing his forehead against hers. “I’d sure like to see you try to force me on a steam packet.”
Rae’s breath caught at his closeness, her nostrils filling with his spicy scent. “I—I wouldn’t,” she stammered, taking a step away from him and pressing her back up against the wall. “Drake would bodily put you there.”
A sharp bark of laughter reverberated through the hall. “And why would he do that?”
“Because I asked him to.”
“And would you ask him to put you on the same steam packet, my love?”
Rae’s pulse raced. “Don’t call me that.”
Simon closed the gap between them again, leaving her nowhere to go. “Why not?”
“Be-because I’m not.” She licked her lips and lifted her hands up to his shoulders to push him away.
“Then why would you tell your sister that you are?”
Her eyes widened and her hands clutched his shoulders as if they were the only things keeping her from falling to the floor in a boneless heap. “P-pardon? I did no such thing.”
Simon’s green eyes searched her face. His face softened and his hands came up and gently covered hers. “Then why…”
Rae lowered her eyes. “There’s another.”
“Another?”
“Another gentleman,” she clarified. Well, he wasn’t a true gentleman in any form of the word, but Simon didn’t need to know that.
Something flickered over Simon’s face, but what it was, she couldn’t identify. “Is he here?”
“Yes.” She blushed. “I mean, no.” Closing her eyes for an extended blink, she took a deep calming breath. Why was it he made it so hard for her to articulate? “He’s in the village. Not here at Crumbles.”
She half-expected him to make some glib remark about her having a tendre for Drake, but he surprised her, when instead he said, “Is he the reason you've been so elusive in London?”
Biting her lip nervously, she nodded once. “He has my heart.” She swallowed the bile threatening to choke her. “Always has.”
“Well then—” Simon curled his fingers under hers, flipped their hands over and took a step back— “we need to make a plan.”
Nervous excitement and hesitation warred within her. “Plan? What plan? The last thing I need is another plan.”
“Another plan?” His eyes sparkled. “Aha, I knew I was part of your plan.”
“Just the part to get me here,” she admitted nervously.
Still holding her hands, he squeezed her palms. “Well, m’dear, I am pleased to inform you that you chose the right gentleman to involve in your scheme to snare another man into matrimony.” A self-deprecating smile took over his lips. “Without meaning to, I’ve driven two ladies into the arms of—”
Catching sight of Juliet and Drake emerging from Drake’s office, panic pushed Rae to take action, and without hesitation, she pushed herself up against Simon and cut off the rest of his confession with a kiss.
9
Simon stood rooted to the floor.
“Rae?” he whispered.
Wordlessly, she cut her eyes in the direction of Drake’s office. Simon followed her line of vision: Lord and Lady Drakely. His tongue grew thick and he forced himself to take an uneasy step away from Rae.
“I thought to suggest you two should go for a walk about the gardens until luncheon, but I’m now I’m not sure that’s for the best,” Juliet said, her hands idly resting on her swollen midsection.
“No, perhaps not,” Simon agreed quietly. Leaving him and Rae to their own devices in the garden might end in a real marriage proposal. The realization sobered him. He might have just offered to help Rae, but he needed to be careful—very careful—from this point forward or he’d be her groom. He lowered his lashes and looked down at her. She was fetching, to be sure, particularly with that pale pink blush coloring her porcelain cheeks. And, he’d be remiss if he didn’t admit that her kiss had affected him in a way that—
“Isn’t that so, Appleton?”
Simon jerked. “Pardon, my lord?” He blinked to clear his lusty thoughts. “I was woolgathering. What was it you said?”
“That if you’re to be staying here for a few days, that you’ll need some new clothes.”
All eyes went to Simon and his wrinkled clothes.
“Oh, a trip to the village is just what we need,” Lady Drakely suggested with far more excitement than Simon thought was worthy of such an idea.
Simon waited for Rae to disagree with her sister, and had to squeeze her hand to make sure she still had a pulse when what had to be a full minute had passed without an objection from Rae.
“I suppose I will need a new suit for the fair,” Simon said.
“Right you are,” Lady Drakely agreed. “It’ll do us all some good to spend some time together.”
Simon doubted that, but nodded his agreement instead.
Fifteen minutes later, the carriage was readied and the four of them, along with Lord Drakely’s three oldest daughters from his first marriage, were traveling down the country’s shabbiest road.
“Perhaps a good rain might help,” Simon said with a grimace as the carriage rocked over an excessively large bump.
“Doubt—” bump “—ful,” Lord Drakely responded, jerking his head to the side to avoid being bonked on the chin by eight year-old Kate
Across the carriage, Lady Drakely held her abdomen and Rae clutched tightly to the edge of the seat with one hand and kept her arm firmly snaked around Helena, the second oldest. The eldest sister sat beside Simon, both of her hands gripping the edge of her seat cushion so tightly her knuckles had turned whiter than the lace on her gown.
“If Cruxley doesn’t try to avoid at least a few of these ruts, Henrietta might be helping to deliver this baby in the carriage,” Lady Drakely said then offered a weak smile. “Won’t that be exciting?”
“No,” Simon said more roughly than he meant. He coughed and instinctively loosened his cravat.
“I agree with Appleton,” Lord Drakely said, reaching his knuckles up toward the ceiling. “If you think that—”
Frowning, Lady Drakely batted at his hand. “We’ve been married too long,” she said on a sigh. “My jests are no longer humorous, I’m afraid.”
The little girl wedged between Rae and Juliet giggled, as did the one seated on her father’s lap.
Lady Drakely smiled at them. “Well, I’m glad you two still find me entertaining.”
“I do, too,” the girl next to Simon said. “But—” BUMP! “—if I laugh, I might bite my tongue off!”
Simon shook his head ruefully. Nothing like the logic of a twelve-year-old. His eyes narrowed on her. Eleven? Perhaps she wasn’t exactly eleven, but she looked close enough in age to Seth, Lucy’s son. Simon’s throat grew tight and he forced his attention away from her.
Unfortunately, Rae picked up on his sudden unease and cocked her head to the side.
Simon dropped his eyes to the floor; memories of a curious and talkative Seth filled his mind. From the moment the two had met, Seth had been full of questions and never at a loss for words. At first Simon had found it amusing. Then, it had become troubling. He didn’t know what to say to the boy when he peppered him with questions about everything from Simon’s family to what was in custard. How the hell was Simon—or anyone who wasn’t a cook—supposed to know what was in custard? All Simon knew was it was one of his favorite foods.
The carriage rocked over another rut. Lord Drakely muttered a curse while the five females in the carriage either squealed or shirked. But most disturbing was that the girl beside Simon had somehow lost her death grip on the velvet cushions and one hand clasped tightly to Simon’s knee. He’d never admit such, but the girl was strong. Or perhaps the unbelievably sharp pain emanating from where those five talons dug into the skin around his knee was clouding his judgment a fraction.
“Are you all right, Mr. Appleton?” asked the wide-eyed little girl on Lord Drakely’s lap.
Not trusting his voice, Simon nodded. If this girl dug any harder, he’d require stitches. Even worse was the fear of jerking his leg away—would she rip his knee clean off? Or merely have her feelings hurt? Either way, he couldn’t risk it.
“Consider it part of your initiation,” Rae said, fighting a smile. “We’ve all been branded.”
Lord and Lady Drakely both nodded wordlessly.
Lady Drakely tucked a tendril of her raven hair behind her ear. “It might help if you shift—”
“Celia, if you want Mr. Appleton to take notice of you, you’re going about it in the wrong way,” the middle daughter said matter-of-factly, rendering everyone in the carriage speechless—presumably all for different reasons.
Immediately, the little girl released the rabbit trap she’d set on Simon’s knee and recoiled into the cushions, her face flushing dark red.
Another sort of pain grabbed hold of Simon now. He hadn’t meant to hurt her or cause her embarrassment, but he was at a complete loss of what to say to the girl. Instead, he stared at her a minute, then stared helplessly at the others.
In hushed tones Lady Drakely admonished the outspoken little girl for embarrassing her sister. Rae mouthed something to him, but he’d never been good at reading lips and instead turned his attention to Lord Drakely and his hard, steely stare. Just as quickly, he pulled his gaze away. Perhaps the floor was a safer choice.
Fortunately for him, he didn’t have to feign interest in the designs in the wood for long and with one more gut-wrenching slam forward the carriage came to a halt.
“Oh, for gracious’ sakes,” Lady Drakely muttered.
Not waiting for the coachman to open the door and rescue them all from their unbearable silence, Lord Drakely reached over to the door and swung it open. “Girls, down.”
Without any further instructions, all three of the little girls scampered out of the carriage. Lord Drakely was down next. He stood by the door of the carriage and reached up to help his wife descend.
