by Cheryl Holt
“So my sister believes you are a cad and a bounder?”
“Yes.”
“Would she have been expecting you to marry this tart?”
“No, I’m quite sure she was ecstatic when I fled.”
“Is there a string of crushed maidens around the country because of you? Are there broken hearts everywhere you’ve been?”
He laughed at the notion. “Trust me, no one is pining away. After a female spends a bit of time with me, she’s celebrating when I walk out the door.”
“I wouldn’t celebrate.”
“You don’t know me very well. Just wait until we’re better acquainted.”
She snuggled herself to him, and he draped an arm over her shoulder. They nestled together, the breeze swishing in the trees, the water bubbling in the stream. It was a delectable episode, and he was trying to catalogue every detail so he’d never forget.
Why wasn’t he in town and winning a pile of money? His fixation was ludicrous, and when he declined to ruin her in the end, the whole charade would wind up costing him the twenty pounds he’d owe to Lady Middlebury.
Perhaps Dubois’s potion had driven him mad.
“Have you ever gone on a picnic before?” she asked him.
“No.”
“I was surprised when you agreed to accompany me. You don’t seem the picnicking type.”
“What type do I seem?”
“You’re dashing and dynamic. You’re the sort to dawdle in ballrooms that are filled with rich, beautiful women so you can take advantage of them.”
“You could be right.”
“Will you wed someday?”
“I doubt it. I’m too set in my ways, and I’d have to find an heiress with a fortune. Those kinds of debutantes normally reach a tad higher when they’re searching for a husband.”
“Will you simply gamble and drink forever? Don’t you get tired of your dissolution and vice?”
“Not really. I’ve never carried on in any other fashion.”
“Tell me about your mother, about your past.”
“It’s not that interesting.”
“I beg to differ. I view you as being infinitely fascinating.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“I can’t help it, and it’s all your fault. You have completely bewitched me. I can’t remember what my life was like before we met.”
“Should I remind you?” he asked. “You grew up wealthy and spoiled, then your world collapsed, and you wound up working for a living.”
“That about sums it up.”
“Have your jobs been horrid?”
“Not horrid. Some have been boring and some difficult. My spot with Mildred is the best by far, but it will only last a year.”
“Why a year?”
“She likes to spread out her largesse to various girls.”
“Even if she adopts you?” he facetiously retorted. “Will you still have to go?”
“Yes, even then.” She laughed. “I thought Clayton Farnsworth would have an apoplexy when she told him that.”
“He’s so covetous of her money.”
“Yes, he is, and it makes her miserable. He tries to mother her, but she’s not a female who needs a nanny.”
“I like her,” he said.
“I like her too, and you haven’t answered my question. It’s occurred to me that you have a curious knack for turning any conversation away from yourself and onto me. Why is that?”
“I’d much rather talk about you.”
“I wouldn’t. What was your mother’s name?”
“Peggy—but she wasn’t my mother.”
“Who was she?”
He was stunned by the admission and decided his fondness for her was the cause. He couldn’t resist giving her whatever she requested, but he never mentioned his childhood. What was the point?
He didn’t want sympathy, and he couldn’t abide pitying glances or whispers about ancestry. He was living proof that a fellow couldn’t rise from the place where he’d started.
“Peggy was a housemaid in a grand house, and she left with me.”
Sarah bolted up and frowned. “You were kidnapped?”
“No, I was sent away as a baby, and she raised me. At least I think that’s what happened. She was a heavy drinker, and when she was foxed she would tell stories. I was never sure which were true and which weren’t.”
But he’d gathered plenty of information over the years. He was positive he’d learned where he came from and who had paid for his support and schooling.
Considering his parentage, he was lucky he hadn’t simply been drowned in the Thames. Peggy had occasionally claimed that had been an option, but it hadn’t been pursued. She’d been hired instead—and well compensated to be silent about it.
“Why were you sent away?” she asked like the naïve young lady she was. “Do you know?”
“In a very lofty family, a natural-born son is a scandal that must be hidden at all costs.”
“Ah…now I understand.”
“I was the dirty little secret that couldn’t be acknowledged.”
“That’s the saddest tale I’ve ever heard. People are such idiots.”
“I agree.”
“No wonder you don’t talk about yourself.”
She gazed into his eyes, and he saw pity there—the sort he usually hated—but it wasn’t condescending or judgmental. She seemed genuinely sorry for him and incensed on his behalf, and her fury made him happy. Maybe he wasn’t quite the wretch he pictured himself to be.
She rested a palm on his cheek. “Don’t let it matter. You’ve grown to be a fine man. Please try to move on from those dark days.”
He might have argued about his being a fine man, but he didn’t. He liked to wallow in her esteem. “I don’t ponder it much. It only bothers me when someone pressures me to discuss it.”
“Meaning me?”
“Yes, meaning you, you pest.”
“Have you discovered the identity of your relatives? Have you any idea as to the name of your mother or father?”
“No,” he lied because of course he’d unraveled it all. “Peggy received a pile of money to take care of me and to keep her mouth shut. On most facts, her lips were sealed, and I never pried them open.”
“Aren’t you dying to learn some details about your parents?”
“It’s why I visit clairvoyants like that charlatan, Dubois.”
“You and Mildred and your mystics,” she said. “I hope you both find the answers you’re seeking.”
“Dubois swears I’ll ultimately have mine.” He grinned. “Should I believe him?”
“Absolutely not.”
“That’s my opinion exactly.”
He pulled her to him and kissed her, and it was the first he’d bestowed all afternoon. He’d been afraid to start in because he might not be able to stop. He simply felt better in her presence, and he couldn’t imagine how he would ever part from her. Especially not in the next week or two.
Perhaps if he spent the whole summer with her, he’d eventually have his fill, but he never stayed with any female for long. He always expected them to be interesting, and he never stuck around after he realized they weren’t. But with Sarah, he might never arrive at a spot where he’d decide she was not interesting. What if that moment never occurred? Then where would he be?
He snuggled her to his chest, and they dawdled in the silence. He sensed she was smiling. He was smiling too.
“You haven’t told me which bedchamber is yours,” he said. “Mildred insisted you should, and she was correct that I’ve been fretting over it.”
“I’m not telling you.”
“I’ll bribe the housemaid, then she’ll spread gossip that you’re loose.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“I would.”
“It’s the maid’s room behind the kitchen.”
“Not a bedchamber upstairs?”
> “No. There are roses blooming outside the window, and when I initially toured the house I could smell them, and I was charmed. It’s very small so Mildred thought I was silly, but I picked it anyway.”
“The room behind the kitchen, huh?”
“Yes, and don’t you dare ever show up there.”
“I won’t.”
It was likely a lie too. He was good at lying. He’d done it so long and so often that he’d forgotten how to be truthful.
They were quiet again, and after a bit she said, “We should probably head home. I want to meet Mildred’s friend, Mr. Winthrop, and if we continue to tarry she’ll assume we’ve been misbehaving.”
“If we had been, I’m not certain she’d care.”
She sighed and sat up, and she glanced at him over her shoulder. With the blue sky above them, and the green grass surrounding her, she was highlighted in vivid, brilliant colors. She looked beautiful and exotic and much too remarkable for the likes of him.
You could have her for your own, a voice whispered, but the notion was impossible, and he shook it away.
“Why are you staring at me like that?” she asked.
“You’re the most gorgeous woman,” he blurted out like an ass.
“Flattery will get you everywhere, Mr. Swift.”
“Will it? Aren’t you the girl who doesn’t like a man to flirt?”
“I’ve changed my mind.”
“That sounds dangerous.”
“Believe me, it is dangerous, but it’s time for me to live a little.”
“With me?”
“I’m not sure. We’ll see what I do and what I don’t.”
“I have a feeling—whatever you choose—it will be grand.”
“Yes, I have a feeling it will be too.” She stood and began putting their belongings in the picnic basket. He stood too and folded the blanket.
“Will you take me dancing tonight, Nicholas Swift?” she inquired.
“There’s nothing I would like more.”
“Are we courting?”
“We’re not courting,” he said.
“Then what are we doing?”
“I have no idea.”
“When you figure it out, please let me know.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“They’re madly in love, aren’t they?”
“Is that your verdict?”
“Yes.”
Mildred smiled at her old friend, Winston Winthrop. They were standing at the front window, observing as Sarah and Nicholas scooted off to the dancing at the fair. She felt as if she and Winston were parents, sending their children out to play.
They had had a pleasant supper, and Sarah and Nicholas had been chatty and humorous. Winston hadn’t been surprised by her young guests. He was aware of her penchant for socializing. Whenever he visited, he always met someone new.
“They’ve only known each other a few days,” she said, “and I’ve never seen two people appear so besotted.”
“It’s practically embarrassing to watch them together. They must not realize what’s occurring.”
“No, and I’m sure Mr. Swift will be terrified when he discovers the depth of his affection.”
“He mentioned he’s a confirmed bachelor. Do either of them have any money?”
“No.”
“Don’t you dare give them any,” he scolded.
“I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Ha! As if I’d believe you. The wheels are spinning in your head. You’re playing matchmaker again.”
“I might be,” she admitted.
“She’s a Henley?”
“Yes, she’s Lord Middlebury’s daughter.”
“Wasn’t he killed in an accident?”
“Yes. At sea a decade ago.”
“And Mr. Swift?”
“No one of any consequence. He claims to be an orphan.”
“Yet you’d encourage an amour anyway?”
Winston was a stickler for each person staying in his or her spot. He couldn’t bear any mixing.
“They’re perfect for one another,” she insisted.
“Maybe in a perfect world. You shouldn’t push this.”
“I never listen to you so don’t nag.”
“Is Mr. Swift a libertine? He seems as if he probably is.”
“Yes, and he reminds me of Robert.”
“Is that why you fancy him so much?”
“Perhaps, but I also like his wild manner of living. I never could abide a tedious dolt.”
“No, you couldn’t, and look where it’s left you.”
She had no secrets from Winston, and he was allowed to point out her flaws and complain about her choices.
Growing up, he’d been their neighbor. He was a decade older than she was, sixty already, and as a girl she’d often assumed her father might betroth them. But it hadn’t happened, and she’d been an adult before she’d learned why. His own father had bankrupted their family with his reckless habits, and they’d never recovered.
Winston resided with his two spinster sisters and his elderly mother, although she’d recently died. They rented a suite of rooms in town. It was a long fall from the period when they’d owned a country manor and had had dozens of servants.
There were times when she felt sorry for him, but mostly she didn’t. He’d been thirty when disaster had struck. In the intervening years since then, he could have wed an heiress or gone into trade or emigrated to start over, but he was content to wallow in genteel poverty.
She supposed it was easy to chastise when she had a fortune. She hadn’t moved on either so she tried not to judge, but she couldn’t help it.
Sarah and Nicholas had vanished down the street, and she pulled away and went to the sofa. He followed her, pausing first to pour them some wine, then he walked over and sat too.
For a moment, he nearly plopped down next to her, but her cautionary glance had him sliding into the chair across. On rare occasions, he’d raised the prospect of her marrying him, but she’d manage to stop herself before she stupidly agreed.
He’d once been handsome, but anymore he seemed elderly and worn out. His blond hair had faded to white, and he still had most of it, but he was thin as a rail, which she didn’t like. He wasn’t a manly man, and he looked as if his tribulations were eating away at him from the inside.
He was too ordinary and dull to be her husband, and he would let her boss him. She believed the man should rule the roost, but Winston had absolutely no idea how to do that, and she couldn’t imagine having a spouse who was so weak and vacillating.
“I saw Clayton when I rolled into town,” he said.
“Is he still here?”
“He’s not staying with you.”
“Of course not. I have guests. He popped in unannounced and expected me to kick somebody out so he could have their room.”
“How typical of him.”
“I might have decided it should be you,” she sarcastically retorted, “but I figured it would be cruel to have you travel all this way only to lose your bed at the last second.”
“Thank you.” He toasted her with his glass. “I appreciate it, but you shouldn’t be so hard on him. He worries about you.”
“He worries about my money, Winston. Don’t annoy me with platitudes.”
Wise enough not to quarrel about Clayton, he changed the subject. “The birthday is tomorrow.”
“Yes.”
“Have you planned anything special?”
“We’re having supper with Sarah and Nicholas.”
“That will be very fun. Anything else?”
“No.”
In the past, she’d engaged in odd conduct that sounded deranged such as touring orphanages to see if any of the children looked familiar. Winston thought she was demented. He simply couldn’t understand the guilt she suffered, and her remorse was increasing rather than lessening.
“And how about your occult prac
tices?” he asked. “Have you been throwing money away on charlatans? Or have you cut back?”
“I recently met with one of them, but his readings are free so you needn’t be concerned that he’s about to abscond with my fortune.”
Actually, she always gave Dubois a hefty fiscal gift, but it was a fact Winston didn’t have to discover. Her finances were her own business.
“I’ve missed you,” he suddenly declared like a doting swain.
“I’ve missed you too. When I received your note, I was glad to learn you were coming.”
“The birthday is difficult for you. I’m delighted we can spend it together.”
“I am too.”
“I’ve been considering my future. What with Mother having passed away, have you pondered our—”
She stopped him. “Are you about to propose again? Please don’t.”
“I’m persistent, Mildred, and I’m an optimist. If I continue pestering you, you might eventually surprise me.”
“You shouldn’t think like that, Winston. I feel awful when I refuse you.”
“Then don’t refuse. We could be happy, and I could keep Clayton away from you. If you had a husband, it wouldn’t be appropriate for him to interfere in your life.”
“I don’t mind him interfering.” It was a lie. She hated it. “He’s like an untrained puppy that can’t control itself.”
“As your spouse, I could help you with that situation.”
“What if I wed you, and a week later Robert walked in the door? Even if I was your wife, I would run away with him all over again.”
An expression of pity creased his face. “Oh, Mildred, how can I reply to such a statement? It breaks my heart when you talk that way. Why can’t you admit that he’s gone forever?”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do know it. You’ve been pining away for three decades. You’ve been waiting for a ghost for three decades. What will it take to make you come to your senses?”
“I don’t want to come to my senses. I’m loyal and faithful. I told him I would always be steadfast—no matter what—and I always will be.”
Winston clucked his tongue like a scolding nanny. “When you obsess like this, I fear for your sanity.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
