Esme sent her father a look, but didn't dispute him. She didn't need to in any event. Even if not for that telltale glance of surprise, Demi knew Esme well enough to have seen the remark for the whopper it was. Esme, to her father's irritation, was 'bookish' and cared for socializing even less than Demi, if possible.
Jon Flemming had his own reasons for coming tonight and Demi very much feared she knew what that reason was. Almost as if on cue with that thought the musicians her aunt had hired took up their instruments and struck up the first notes of a dance. Demi's heart sank as Flemming smiled and reached for her hand. "May I have this dance?" he asked.
She didn't know why he bothered to voice the statement as a request, for it was certainly not that. His attitude and tone were plainly proprietary.
Before Demi could think up an excuse to reject him, someone touched her elbow. She glanced around quickly to discover Garrett Trowbridge had come to stand beside her and felt the earth drop from beneath her feet as she gazed up into his dazzlingly brilliant grin. "Our dance, I believe. Better luck next time, Flemming. She's already promised this dance to me."
The shock alone should have been sufficient to prevent Demi from behaving in any way approaching normal. In truth, she was not afterwards certain how her behavior might have appeared to anyone who happened to observe it, but the need to escape overrode all other considerations. She had murmured her apologies and placed her hand on Lord Wyndham’s sleeve and departed with him for the dance floor before she thought better of it.
Unfortunately, she began to wonder almost immediately why he’d seen fit to rescue her. A half a dozen possibilities came almost instantly to mind, none of them particularly flattering to her, but, when all was said and done, did it really matter what his motives were? “Thank you,” she said quietly.
His dark brows rose. “You are premature. We have not danced yet and you may feel less inclined to thank me once we have.”
Demi glanced at him in surprise and bit back a smile. “For rescuing me,” she clarified, although she doubted he’d misunderstood her to begin with.
“You’re so certain that was my motivation?” he asked pensively.
“It wasn’t?” Demi asked in surprise. “Well, I won’t ask, for I’m ever so grateful you did, whatever your reasons.”
“A burning desire to engage in a country dance?”
She chuckled. “I could believe most anything but that.”
“As it happens, I haven’t been called upon to rescue a demoiselle in distress in quite some time. I found it difficult to resist the desperate glance you cast in my direction.”
“Oh, but I didn’t--” Demi broke off. Blushing, she bit her lip, realizing that the comment she’d been about to make could easily be considered rude. On the other hand, it was almost as embarrassing to think that he’d been laboring under the assumption that she’d cast a beseeching plea in his direction. It wouldn’t have occurred to her to look to him to come to her rescue, for she’d barely even exchanged pleasantries with him previously.
His dark brows rose. “You didn’t?” he prompted.
Demi looked at him uncomfortably. “I only glanced at the door. I was wondering if I was close enough….”
A faint smile curled his lips. “I am properly set down.”
“I beg your pardon. That was rude, but I didn’t mean to be.”
He didn’t look put out. In fact, he looked at her for the first time with an air of keen interest. “But refreshingly honest, nevertheless.”
Demi cast a quick glance around the room. “Aunt Alma would not be at all pleased to think she has not cured me of my ‘refreshing honesty’ when she has been at such pains to teach me how to behave in polite society.”
Fortunately, they reached the dance floor at that moment and were obliged to take up their positions for the country dance, precluding further speech, for Demi had no sooner made the remark than it occurred to her that that opened the door to questions she’d as soon not answer. Unfortunately, her aunt caught her eye at just that moment and, even from across a crowded room, her look of promised retribution was such that Demi found it difficult to concentrate on the dance. In the end, not only did she perform with embarrassing clumsiness, but she did not enjoy a dance that should have become a momentous memory for her--her first, and quite possibly only, dance with the man she had secretly adored from afar from the first moment she’d set eyes upon him.
Chapter Two
Retribution was swift in coming. Demitria had spent far more of her life with her aunt than she had with the parents she could scarcely remember, and knew well enough to expect that it would. Nevertheless, the sheer magnitude of her aunt’s revenge succeeded in stunning her.
She’d been obliged to remain at the soiree once her dance with Lord Wyndham had been concluded despite her near desperation by that time to escape, for her aunt kept her under her watchful eye for the remainder of the evening. Nor could she think of an acceptable excuse to refuse Jon Flemming’s invitation to dance afterward. In the end, she had been obliged to dance twice with him and it was only for the sake of propriety that he accepted her refusal of a third.
By the time she’d been allowed to retire, she’d had a headache from parrying Flemming’s determined flirtation the remainder of the evening. She awoke the following day with her head still pounding and was greeted by her maid with the intelligence that her aunt wanted a word with her directly after she’d broken her fast.
It was enough to demolish what little appetite she’d had. The rare streak of rebellion-- courtesy, according to her aunt, of her father--that her aunt had not succeeded in completely eliminating had reared its head, however, and instead of presenting herself immediately, she went for a stroll in the garden in the hope that it might lift her spirits, or at least reduce her pounding headache.
It didn’t, and after a time, she wandered into the meadow of tall grasses beyond the garden. Darting a quick look around to make certain she was not observed, she sat, staring up at the sky dreamily, trying to summon the dim memories of her childhood to bring her some measure of peace. She remembered happiness, but only tiny snatches of particular events. Her father, a soldier, had been stationed in India and she and her mother had gone to live with him there. She knew she’d been there when her parents were killed in the uprising, but oddly enough, she couldn’t recall any of it. The doctor had said that the images were simply too horrendous for her to accept and so her mind had shielded her from the memory. She suspected that he was correct in his assumption and therefore had never tried to find those lost memories. She supposed that was why she remembered so little of the good memories either, but those she deeply regretted losing.
She wasn’t certain of whether she dozed, or if she slipped so deeply into her thoughts that she lost awareness of her surroundings. Whichever the case, her mind was slow to interpret the thrashing in the nearby grass as footsteps and he was virtually upon her before it connected in her mind. She sat up with a start, her heart beating unpleasantly fast. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or further disturbed when she discovered that it was Lord Wyndham. Even looking upon him was enough to make her almost giddily breathless with excitement, but his attention unnerved her almost as much as it thrilled her.
“I have found our truant, I believe.”
She looked up at him guiltily. “My lord?”
“The picnic?” he prompted.
Demi put a hand to her wildly fluttering heart. “I thought perhaps my aunt was looking for me,” she said with a touch of relief. She’d forgotten her cousin had planned a picnic for the day, but then she had not been invited and she had not really paid much attention to the plans Phoebe and her court were making for their entertainment.
Amusement gleamed in his eyes. He looked the grass over with a touch of doubt and finally settled on the ground facing her, wrapping his arms around his bent knees. “So … you are playing truant.”
Demi sighed but finally nodded. “It’s far too early in
the day to face unpleasantness, especially when one has a headache to begin with.”
“Most ladies physic headaches by lying in a darkened room with a tisane,” he said pensively, “not a meadow beneath the sun.”
Grimacing, Demi looked away. “I expect, then, that they do not have an aunt like mine.”
“She strikes me as a veritable dragon.”
Demi looked at him sharply and looked away again, plucking a blade of grass and twining it about her fingers. “I expect I sound ungrateful for all my aunt has done for me. Truly, I’m not. She has been most generous in caring for me, considering I’ve not a farthing to my name.”
“Mmm,” he murmured non-committally. “And what plans has this generous aunt of yours devised for your future, I wonder? I expect Lady Phoebe will be settled before the year is out and will no longer have need of a companion.”
In point of fact, although her aunt had not elaborated on her thoughts, she had expressed the opinion that it would be cheaper in the long run to settle a modest dowry upon Demi than to have her niece swung about her neck for the remainder of her life. Demi correctly interpreted modest to mean a sum sufficient to attract a tradesman or perhaps a man with a profession. Her aunt was beyond tight with a farthing. She had suffered over launching Phoebe in style, but had explained that she expected the expense to prove well worth it, for Phoebe was bound to land a man of wealth and title.
Instead of answering, she rose abruptly and brushed the grass and dirt from her frock. As uncomfortable as the conversation itself was, she shuddered to think what her aunt might have to say about her speaking with Lord Wyndham. “Excuse me. I should go in now. It is never wise to keep Aunt Alma waiting overlong.”
She cast a look behind her when she reached the garden once more, wondering if it was possible that she might have been observed from the house. To her dismay, she could see Lord Wyndham quite clearly.
She doubted her cousin would suffer any anxiety over Lord Wyndham’s sudden, and completely incomprehensible, interest in her, but her aunt would not take it kindly at all and might well accuse her of throwing herself in his way.
Her aunt, she discovered when she inquired of one of the maids, had ensconced herself in her late husband’s study. A deep sense of foreboding settled over Demi as she made way down the hall to the door of the study and tapped lightly. She was given permission to enter and, taking a deep, sustaining breath, went in.
“Did your maid not give you my message?” Alma Moreland greeted her.
Demi stared at her aunt. If she said no, then the maid would either be dismissed or severely reprimanded. If she said yes, she would have to endure the barrage herself. As tempted as she was to deny responsibility, however, she was fond of her maid and didn’t want to get her into trouble. “Yes, Aunt Alma … but I had a headache and went out in the hopes that fresh air would help.”
Her aunt gave her a look that left her in no doubt that she knew Lord Wyndham had joined her. “With whom?”
Blushing beneath that unforgiving stare despite all she could do, Demi furnished her aunt with a half truth. She did not expect to get away with it, for her Aunt Alma was very like a demi-god in that absolutely nothing transpired at Moreland that she was unaware of. Demi strongly suspected that at least half of the servants were her spies and reported to her hourly. “I went to walk in the garden alone.”
“Where you encountered Lord Wyndham? Did you make an assignation with him last eve when the two of you danced?”
Demi gaped at her aunt in shock. “No!”
Alma Moreland studied her for several moments and finally nodded. “You will do well to eschew his company in future, my dear. He has a shocking reputation.”
Resentment swelled in Demi’s breast. It was an outright fabrication, and she knew it. He had sown his share of wild oats … and what young man of the ton had not? But he was certainly not a blackguard as her aunt seemed to be implying. “I find that difficult to believe!” she exclaimed before she thought better of it.
“Are you questioning my word?” Alma Moreland asked coldly.
Demi paled and looked down at her hands. She had not been invited to sit and she shifted uncomfortably under her aunt’s piercing stare. “Surely you would not allow him to court Phoebe if he was beyond the pale?”
“Quit fidgeting!” Alma Moreland snapped. “As to that, he would not think of giving my girl a slip on the shoulder. You are another matter, my dear. Many an impoverished young woman before you has found herself in dire straits indeed by refusing to listen to the advice of their betters. You will do well to remember that men like Lord Wyndham have their family name to consider. They do not seriously court impoverished young women, even those of good family. They have been known to prey upon them, however, for their baser needs.”
Demi didn’t know whether to be horrified or intrigued by the suggestion that Lord Wyndham might have dark designs upon her. It had not occurred to her previously that he might. He’d indicated that he’d asked her to dance out of empathy for her reluctance to dance with the Rev. Flemming. She had not thought to question it. As for their encounter earlier, she’d considered it merely a coincidence that he had happened upon her in the meadow.
She frowned, but try as she might she could not think of anything that he’d said or done to indicate he had designs upon her person. Very likely, she decided with some disappointment, it was only her aunt’s evil mind that had invented lasciviousness where none existed.
“That said--and I know you are, in general, a modest young woman ,” Alma Moreland continued, “I have very good news for you.”
Demi’s belly clenched reflexively. Good news to Alma Moreland didn’t necessarily mean anyone else would think it so. In general it meant that she expected to profit somehow from it, regardless of whom the news pertained to and anyone who did not share her opinion of the news was either a fool or they had set themselves up against her. “Good news?” she echoed cautiously.
“Do sit down, Demitria! From the look of you I can’t imagine your stroll was particularly efficacious. You’re as pale as a ghost.”
Demi looked around and finally perched on the edge of the nearest chair, waiting expectantly for the ax to fall.
Alma Moreland smiled at her and if possible, Demi’s stomach clenched even harder. “Our dear Reverend Flemming had a word with me last evening before he left. Such a gentleman! And such a fine figure of a man. He is considered quite a catch, you must know. You have played your cards very well, very well indeed--although I must say I’m not particularly fond of that vulgarism--But it never does to allow a man to feel as if he has an open field. It was very clever of you to finagle a dance out of Lord Wyndham--just the impetus needed to push Mr. Flemming into declaring himself. We have all but settled it between us. I must say I was most pleasantly surprised by him, for he readily agreed with the sum I offered to settle upon you. In fact, he made it clear that he had not expected that you would be dowered at all and had set aside a sum himself for that purpose.” She stopped, frowning. “I was that put out about it, I must tell you, for I might have saved … but no matter. I shall not count the cost in seeing you properly settled. It’s the least I can do for my poor, departed sister to see her girl comfortably settled.”
If her aunt had announced that she was to be executed the following morning, Demi did not think she could have been more stunned. Bereft of speech, her thoughts shattered into chaos by shock, Demi found she was incapable for some moments of even putting two thoughts together and making any sense of them. At first she could not think beyond her revulsion at the idea of being Jonathan Flemming’s wife. Outrage began to sink in as she managed to add to that the fact that he and her aunt between them had settled all very neatly without any consideration for her wishes, without consulting her, without even apprising her of their plans until after the fact.
Alma Moreland smirked. “I see I have rendered you speechless with delight. I confess I was not at all pleased to see you dangling after Lord
Wyndham, particularly since I could only consider it a betrayal of trust when you know very well he is Phoebe’s beau and we expect almost daily that he will declare himself. Now that I have been brought to see that it was merely a clever ruse on your part to coax the elusive Mr. Flemming into taking the plunge, I am only sorry I did not think of it myself. Men are such territorial creatures when all is said and done, and it is only human nature to want what is difficult to obtain and despise what is easily gotten.
“I must confess I’m a bit put out to see you settled before my own, dear daughter, especially when she is nigh a year your senior, but I did not feel it wise to play fast and loose with your future, my dear, by putting him off until after Phoebe’s engagement had been announced.”
Demi looked at her aunt blankly. “Phoebe is engaged?”
Alma Moreland reddened. “Sarcasm is most unbecoming in young people, particularly when directed at their elders. You know very well she is not--not yet, at any rate. I expect she will be soon. In point of fact, it occurs to me that it may take no more than the announcement of your engagement to Mr. Flemming to inspire others to capitulate.
“But, enough of that. I know you are on pins and needles to hear the particulars of your own match. I assured Mr. Flemming that you would welcome his offer and invited him to luncheon today so that he may be private with you afterward while the young people are all off enjoying their picnic.”
“But … I do not welcome his offer!” Demi blurted out suddenly.
Alma Moreland looked at her in stunned amazement. “I beg your pardon?” she demanded coldly.
A wave of fear washed through Demi, but she was far more fearful of finding herself wed, and completely at the mercy of Jonathan Flemming. If there had been any doubt in her mind that he was of the same ilk as her aunt, she might have been willing to consider it, but she was certain he was every bit as controlling and demanding as her aunt, possibly even more so. Of a certainty, he could also be kind, but that was only when everything was going as he pleased. At any time he was displeased, he was enraged. He hid it reasonably well--now. Once she was under his control he would have no concern about giving vent to it, she was certain, and his size alone was unnerving. He was built far more like a blacksmith than a cleric. “As much as I appreciate his offer, I cannot accept it,” Demi stammered.
The Rake Page 2
