by Rose Gordon
Simon let out a sharp bark of laughter. “I have a hard time believing she’d ever attempt to trap a man into marriage.” Rae might have had her cap set on Mr. Fisher, but he couldn’t picture her doing anything to trap him.
Mr. Fisher laughed bitterly. “Then you haven’t been around her long enough.”
Simon forced a shrug. “I’ve spent enough time in her company to know she hasn’t tried to lay a trap for me.”
“She might not be able to read or write her own name—” he banged his hammer against the anvil few times— “but I wouldn’t be so certain she hasn’t schemed up something. She’s craftier than a serpent.”
Simon’s heart ached for Rae at his unkind remarks and he chose to ignore them. “And would marriage to such a beautiful and witty lady be the worst fate to befall a man?” he asked casually.
Mr. Fisher’s lips twisted in disgust. “A man with any sense, it would.” Then before Simon could ask him anything else, he pulled the heated metal out of the fire and set it on the anvil. Taking his hammer in hand, he started pounding the piece, sending sparks flying, and effectively declaring Simon dismissed from his presence.
Shaking his head in disbelief, Simon exited the addled man's shop.
As soon as the door closed behind him, his eyes fell on Rae. She was seated on a bench across the street. Her hands were clutched in her lap and she was idly kicking her feet back and forth. Though her head was down, he could tell she was biting her lip. He smiled. So many times he’d seen others bite their lip and hadn’t given a second thought to their nervous habits, but for some reason his eyes couldn’t look away from Rae when she did it.
“Well, I’ve made the acquaintance of your Mr. Fisher,” Simon said, sitting down next to her.
“He’s not mine,” she whispered.
“But you want him to be, no?”
Slowly she nodded.
Simon couldn’t pretend to understand why, but if it’s what she wanted… “All right, well, then we need to do something for you to catch his attention.” He reached for her chin and used the tips of his fingers to tip it up to look at him. “Just his attention. The rest is up to him.”
The confused expression in her bright blue eyes confirmed what he’d already suspected: Mr. Fisher spouted poppycock. Rae had never actually tried to trap him into marriage. She was just…forward. The very thing she’d accused him of being.
“And how do you suppose I do that?”
“I don’t know yet,” he admitted, standing. He offered her his hand. “Where to now?”
“Mr. Edwards,” she said softly.
To their good fortune, Mr. Edwards had four pair of trousers and two shirts that only required mild alterations. Adding a few pair of stockings and a cravat to his order, Simon was satisfied. Surely, Lord Drakely’s staff could iron the wrinkles out of his coat and waistcoat. They were in a little town in the country that didn’t even warrant a dot on the map, for heaven’s sake. That didn’t require being dressed impeccably at every hour of the day.
“Anywhere else?” Simon gestured toward the little shop in front of them. Hair ribbons and reticules were on display in the window. “Do you need anything?”
“No, thank you,” she said, placing her hand in the crook of his arm. “We should get back to the carriage before Juliet thinks we’ve run off to Scotland.”
Chuckling, Simon steered them in the direction of where the carriage was parked. He might not understand how Rae could be so infatuated with Mr. Fisher, but her statement had convinced him now more than ever that she had no plans of trapping Simon into marriage.
And he couldn’t tell why, but the realization was a fraction disappointing.
11
If curling up in a ball and declaring she was never stepping foot outside of Crumbles again for as long as she lived was an option, Rae would consider declaring those were her plans.
Unfortunately, Juliet had other plans.
“Why don’t the two of you go visit Mama and Papa?” Juliet suggested at breakfast the next morning.
The last thing she wanted to do was to go visit her parents with Simon in tow. “I don’t think that would be proper,” Rae pointed out.
“No,” Juliet agreed. “But since you two—”
“Actually, I think that’s a brilliant idea,” Simon cut in. “I’d like to meet your parents.”
Rae doubted he’d be so excited about going when he got there and met her seven younger brothers and sisters. A wide grin stole over her face. “Indeed. Well, then we shall be off as soon as we finish breaking our fast.”
Three sets of curious eyes flew to her, which she promptly ignored.
“You will be taking Charlotte with you,” Juliet said quietly a few minutes later.
Rae nodded her understanding. With or without her maid, it made no difference to Rae.
“What do you have up your sleeve?” Simon asked bluntly while waiting for Charlotte to join them in the carriage.
“Nothing,” she said sweetly, narrowing her eyes on him. “What’s up yours?” She gripped the fabric of his coat sleeve. “Besides your arm?”
Simon feigned shock. “Should a proper young lady be naming body parts?”
“Probably not,” she admitted. “I wouldn’t know. Juliet is the one who went to school.”
“Is that something that bothers you?” Simon asked slowly, quietly.
Rae tore her eyes away from Simon’s. What would he think of her if he were to know she was illiterate? “Charlotte! Thank you so much for joining us.”
Charlotte, an older woman of Irish descent, bobbed her head once and braced herself for the bumpy ride that was about to begin. “Whatever the lady wishes.”
The ride to her girlhood home was, in a single word, unnerving. But not as unnerving as the moment when the carriage stopped in front of the ramshackle house where she’d grown up.
Rae didn’t know how many times Juliet and Drake had tried to encourage her family to move elsewhere and had even offered to build them a new home. Father was too proud, however, claiming he’d borrowed money from Lord Drakely once and had lost his daughter in the exchange, he wouldn’t be indebted to the man again.
Rae understood pride, but she also understood stubbornness and being unreasonable. Were it up to her, she’d have accepted their funds and moved the family to a nicer home.
But it wasn’t up to her, and her only option was to go live with Juliet at Crumbles when she’d extended the invitation.
“This is it,” she said, forcing a wobbly smile to her lips and holding her breath in anticipation of Simon’s reaction.
“Cozy,” he said, easing all the tension in her shoulders with a single word.
“Wait until you see the inside,” she said, steeling her spine. She might not like having to show this off as her once home, but the fact was Simon’s opinion didn’t mean a mound of custard to her.
“The anticipation of it is nearly killing me,” he said dryly.
“Be nice,” she said, swatting at his shoulder.
Simon’s hand flew to his freshly swatted shoulder. “Must you wound me?”
“If you think that’s a wound, wait until you meet—”
Just then two boys of ages eight and ten, if he had to guess, came running around the side of the carriage.
“Peter and Joseph!” Rae said with a squeal, holding her arms out.
Both boys raced over to her and wrapped her in a tight hug.
“Back from London already?” the taller one asked.
“Just for a time,” Rae said.
“An’ she brought a toff,” the other boy said, crossing his arms. “You think you’re gonna marry my sister.”
“Our sister,” the other boy corrected, adopting the same defensive position as his brother.
“Perhaps,” Simon said, slowly looking both boys up and down. They appeared to be close to Seth’s age, but their reaction to him was vastly different. Seth was very eager and excited at his presence and the possibility of Sim
on marrying his mother, whereas these two looked like they were ready to form a mob to draw and quarter Simon just for standing next to their sister. Odd.
“All right, you two, you’ve made him quake in his boots, now go play,” Rae said, making a shooing motion with her hand.
“I’m not quaking,” Simon said flatly.
A dubious expression came over Rae's face. “Perhaps not at their threats…but at their presence.”
“I concede,” he said with a bow, garnering a giggle from Rae.
“Not to worry, Mr. Appleton,” she said in a superior tone. “After today, you’ll never feel at odds around a child again.”
“I don’t feel out of sorts now,” he said.
Rae placed her hand in the crook of his arm. “Tell yourself what you must. But you cannot lie to me.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he muttered, leading her up the crumbling front steps. “Do we knock…?”
“No,” she said laughingly. “Just open it. Then jump back.”
Simon eyed the door. Jump back?
Rae tried to keep a straight face and grabbed for the doorknob. More times than she could count she’d opened this door only to be greeted with shouts and chaos and flying objects. It had annoyed her to no end when Juliet was at school and she’d assumed the role as the eldest child. All of their siblings had always listened to and obeyed Juliet. Rae didn’t command the same of her siblings. Well, she did command it; they just didn’t cooperate. Now that she wasn’t living it, though, she always had an odd sense of joy and amusement when she opened the door and saw them all behave like heathens. Perhaps that was because she knew she’d be able to leave Bedlam when she was ready.
Just then, the front door swung open and a large dirt clod collided with Simon’s chest.
“What in the devil?” he muttered, touching the spot on his chest that had just been pelted, frowning.
“Cannon ball,” Rae said casually, moving to the side to avoid being run down by a small army of her younger brothers and sisters. “You should make one and throw it back at Peter.”
“But he’s—” Simon squinted at the little heathen running through the yard “—eight.”
“Fifteen,” Rae corrected.
Simon shrugged. “Either way, I can’t throw anything at him, he’ll—”
“Pelt you harder than before?” She interrupted, her lips twitching. She cocked her head to the side. “Do you bruise easily?”
Simon made a show of pursing his lips and shaking his head at her. “He’s a child. I cannot throw something at him.”
Rae bent down, picked up something from the ground, then grabbed Simon’s hand and firmly slapped the hard clump of dirt that had been hurled at him firmly into his open palm. “Throw it at it him. Quick,” she urged with a wide grin, frantically wiping her open palm against her skirts. “Before he gets too far.”
Without sparing a second for logic, Simon pulled his hand back as far as he could then threw it as hard as he could toward the group of urchins.
Both sets of eyes followed that hardened clump of dirt as it sailed through the air and collided with the back of Samuel’s head.
Immediately, Samuel’s little hand flew to the back of his head, his feet skidding to a stop. He whirled around to face Rae and Simon, pure, unadulterated astonishment stamped on his face.
“Who the devil threw that?” the little boy demanded loudly from where he stood thirty feet away from them.
Rae wanted to laugh at the astounded expression on her younger brother’s face. “He did,” she shouted the same time Simon hollered, “Her.” Each pointed a finger at the other.
Rae swatted at Simon’s hand, but Simon just pointed at her with his other, grinning.
Samuel shook his head. “’Twas a passable throw,” he said with a shrug, his lips curling in disgust.
Rae laughed and Simon frowned. “Passable?”
“He’s goading you,” Rae said softly. “Likely he has a knot the size of an egg already forming on his skull.”
Simon didn’t look overly convinced.
“Invite him to throw the clot back at you,” Rae suggested.
Simon hollered for the chap to throw it back to him.
“No, I’d better not.” The lad shook his head his dark curls swinging in the wind. “I wouldn’t illicit Henny’s wrath for injuring her toff.”
It took everything within Rae not to laugh at Simon’s pursed lips. “He’s goading you again,” she said.
He looked at her, his eyes wide with uncertainty. Oh dear, this was worse than she thought.
“Say something back,” she encouraged.
“I did it,” Simon blurted.
Rae’s jaw gaped. Quickly, she closed it with a snap. “Inside,” she said, ushering him into the house. As soon as they were both inside, she shut the door, silencing Jacob, Joseph, Samuel, and Lucas’ howls of laughter.
“I knew you were uncomfortable around children,” Rae said, taking a seat on the threadbare settee by the window. “I didn’t realize they addled your brain.”
Frowning, Simon sat next to her. “Thank you for offering your keen assessment.”
“You’re welcome.” She patted his arm then returned her hand to her own lap. “Children are not complicated creatures.”
Simon snorted. “I’ve only spoken to one once…” He shuddered.
“That bad?”
“The boy could have been mistaken for a member of the Watch.”
“Ah, little boys are full of questions,” Rae said with a nod of confirmation. Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “And they believe everything.”
Simon twisted his lips into a dubious expression. “That one out there didn’t.”
“That’s because he knows better,” Rae reassured him. “Today was the first day I ever picked up one of those dirt balls and everyone in the shire knows it.”
“But you looked fetching doing it.” Simon’s green eyes widened, his cheeks turning a light pink. “Er…you did it with such conviction.”
“Thank you.” He thought she was fetching? Tamping down her girlish excitement, she said, “See, you believed it because you’re a boy.”
Simon’s green eyes darkened to the color of a forest. “Care to test that theory?”
Oh no. What had he just said? Simon’s entire being was paralyzed. Rae was, too—save her lower, trembling lip, a perfect complement to the petrification present in her eyes.
In the past two months he’d found himself in far more private, intimate quarters with two other females and neither time had he said anything of like as he’d just said. Her plush, pink lips were like a beacon in the night, calling to him, begging him to kiss her and taste her. He forced his lusty thoughts away.
“I’m sorry.” He winced at the harshness in his tone or would have if his body could move. Since his mouth seemed to be the only thing capable of working, he opened it to say whatever he could to make the palpable tension dissolve.
Nothing came out, but someone entered the room.
“Henrietta!” squealed an older, slightly plump woman, presumable Rae’s increasing mother. Simon forced himself to stand. It wasn’t graceful.
“Mama.” Rae slowly rose to her feet then stiffly embraced her mother, kissing the air next to her cheek. Odd.
Mrs. Hughes’ slate grey eyes traveled to Simon, then back to Rae, two lines forming between her eyes. “Who is our guest?”
Simon had the oddest feeling that Mrs. Hughes’ wasn’t very excited to see him. The thought almost made him chuckle. Almost. What a difference from the way he was greeted by matchmaking mamas in London.
“Yes, Mama,” Rae said. “He’s…er…” She bit her lip. “My guest.”
“Your guest?” Mrs. Hughes echoed, her tone as uneasy as her face looked. She pulled her daughter closer to her. “Are you in some sort of trouble?”
“The worst sort,” Rae said in a stage whisper. “Juliet has taken it into her mind that this is the one I should marry.”
&n
bsp; Mrs. Hughes’ shrewd eyes did a slow, thorough sweep of Simon’s form. “He looks all right if not a little stiff.”
Rae giggled at her mother’s assessment, likely for a different reason than the one that caused Simon to choke on his discomfort.
“Eh, he’s not so bad,” Rae said, winking at him.
Mrs. Hughes’ face softened considerably. “Have you…” She bit her lip the same way Rae did when she was nervous. “Set your bonnet upon him?”
Rae turned a lovely shade of pink. “The phrase is to set your cap upon him, and no, I haven’t.”
“I’ll take him,” exclaimed a pale-faced, blue eyed, blonde haired little girl, sending Simon’s mind into a small whirlwind of panic. “He’s mansome.”
Simon choked. Mansome? What the devil was mansome?
Between Rae’s bright red face and Mrs. Hughes girlish giggles, Simon didn’t think he’d get an answer were he to be foolish enough to put his confusion into words.
“Yes, Jane,” Mrs. Hughes said, still laughing. “Henrietta’s beau is very handsome.”
Ah, handsome. “Thank you, Miss Hughes,” Simon said with a low bow.
“Ooooh,” squealed the little girl. She ran up to him and thrust her hand out toward him.
Simon stared at it.
She waved it around between them.
Simon looked to Rae for some sort of clue about what was expected of him.
Unfortunately, that was not a good idea as she stood there with her lips puckered, making kissing faces at him. Blast and damnation! That was the last thing a man who’d been woolgathering about kissing her not two minutes before needed to see at the moment.
He turned his attention back to the little hand with five wiggly fingers waving about in front of him and reached for it and shook it. “Pleasure to meet you, Jane.”
Rae’s loud sigh drew Simon’s attention. “Is something wrong?” he asked. Why the hell was she holding her head in her hands? And was she crying?
“She wanted you to kiss her hand, not shake it.”
“Oh.” If the ground would suddenly open up before him and swallow him whole he wouldn’t mind so much.
