Rakes and Roses (Proper Romance Regency)

by Josi S. Kilpack

  The draw to see Harry was so strong, she didn’t trust herself to act on it. She’d never been in love before and had expected to live out her life without it. Was this love? Or something else? How was anyone to know?

  On Monday, she received word from Molly that her mother had passed. Sabrina pushed herself into the situation in order to ensure Molly’s mother was properly and respectfully interred without it being a financial burden on Molly. That night, Sabrina’s nerves were on edge, and she did not sleep well.

  On Tuesday, she finally ordered the carriage. Tomorrow, Harry would go to his meeting with Mr. Gordon. She could not abandon him on his last night. Also, she would be leaving for Brighton in a week, and there was a great deal of work to be done at Rose Haven before then.

  The carriage rumbled toward home, and her stomach got tighter with every mile. It was beyond ridiculous for her to feel this way. They’d shared a handful of evenings together, and he knew only the parts of her she’d been willing to show, which were not the most important ones.

  She was acting like a silly girl who thought infatuation meant something when she knew very well that it didn’t. Her father had been infatuated with her mother, but in the end, their relationship had been a business transaction. Infatuation made women a commodity.

  She leaned against the cushions and took a deep breath, drawing on her strength and fortitude. One more night in his company, a final chess match, and then she would have months to forget all about him. It would not be so hard once he was gone.

  Harry’s palms started sweating when he heard the wheels coming up the drive. He used the armrests of the chair Joshua had brought into the foyer to push himself up, then settled the crutches beneath his arms. He’d made a great deal of progress in both his stamina and his balance these last few days. The only benefit of Lady Sabrina having stayed in London so long is that he’d had time to work on regaining his independence, wanting to impress her when she returned.

  He wished he had a third hand so he might adjust his cravat. It had been so long since he had worn evening clothes that the tightness around his neck felt quite confining. He marveled that he had once worn a cravat each and every day; they were terribly uncomfortable. Were comfort his only consideration, he might wear a nightshirt every day for the rest of his life.

  He heard the carriage stop, and he swung himself toward the door, keeping his right leg bent at the knee. Goodness, but he’d missed Sabrina.

  Therese had first told him the travel was for a meeting with her solicitor regarding arrangements for her trip to Naples. The next day, however, when she’d handed him a letter from Mr. Gordon, she’d had no explanation for why Lady Sabrina had extended her trip.

  So much had happened while she’d been gone—learning he’d have to meet with Malcolm and having Uncle Elliott move up his plans to come to London so that Harry might go there afterward—it had been heady to be so busy after a month of doing so little. He would leave tomorrow and never come back to Rose Haven. The sorrow he felt was raw and heavy, but at least he would have one more evening with Sabrina. He would not allow himself to wish for more than that.

  He positioned himself in the foyer and nodded at Joshua, who opened the door and stepped aside as Lady Sabrina came up the last few steps.

  “Good evening, Lady Sabrina,” Joshua said.

  “Good evening, Joshua,” she said by rote.

  She stepped over the threshold, removing her gloves, and then stopped when she saw Harry. She smiled, and that smile allowed him to put a cap on his lingering sadness about leaving.

  “Mr. Stillman,” she said, moving toward him with bright lips and bright eyes. “How nice you look. What is . . .” She looked at the crutches and frowned. “What are you doing out of your room?” Her eyes traveled the length of the stairs and back. “And down here—on the main level? Joshua, help Mr. Stillman back to his room and—”

  “Joshua and Steven from the stables brought me down; I did not navigate the stairs. And Steven has made me this pair of excellent crutches.” He leaned on the left crutch so he could hold out the right one. The top braces were wrapped in thick linen which was more comfortable beneath Harry’s arms. “I am improving my use of them by the day.”

  He demonstrated by walking to the base of the stairs and back, his right leg bent so it did not touch the floor at all. Therese had hemmed his black trousers at the knee so the fabric didn’t interfere with the splinted portion of his leg, wrapped in fresh linen this afternoon. It was a sacrifice, cutting up one of the few pairs of pants he owned, but Sabrina’s smile had already made it worthwhile.

  “You are not putting any weight on that leg?” she asked, sounding doubtful.

  “Not a bit,” Harry said, then nodded his chin toward Joshua, who was looking quite invested in the scene taking place in front of him. “Joshua can confirm it.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said to Sabrina. “Therese made him promise, and I have stayed on hand as he practiced in case he needed assistance.”

  “I have been practicing in the mornings,” Harry added. “And then Therese makes me rest all afternoon, though she’s allowed me to use the Bath chair. I can manage it almost as well as a phaeton, I daresay.”

  “And you are not in pain from so much time upright?” Sabrina asked.

  “My leg aches afterward, but I sleep with it propped upon pillows. I will be extra cautious tomorrow to make up for this.” He waved his hand toward the dining room and watched her eyes follow the direction.

  After hesitating longer than he thought polite, she finally undid the tie at the neck of her cloak, handing it off to Joshua. “And what, might I ask, is this?”

  “Dinner.”

  “Dinner?” she repeated. “That is cause for so much effort on your part?”

  “Yes,” Harry said, lifting his chin. “Dinner in the dining room, with me.”

  She finally smiled her authentic smile. “You have planned a dinner for me in my own dining room of my own house?”

  “When was the last time you ate dinner in your own dining room of your own house . . . with company?”

  He saw the flash of embarrassment reflected in her eyes. She did not want him to know that she was lonely in this wonderful life she had built for herself. Three weeks ago, he would not have had the insight to see such a thing, but so much had changed since then. He hurried to fill the silence before she felt obligated to do so.

  “Therese helped plan the menu with some of your favorites, including lemon custard for pudding. Before that, though, we have turtle soup, fresh cucumbers in sherry, turnips with braised greens, and pork loin in bourbon sauce.”

  “It sounds delectable,” she said. “I do not often have coursed meals at home.”

  Harry winked and watched her catch her breath before using his crutches to propel himself across the floor to her. He turned so they were side by side. “It is not quite the same as taking a man’s arm to be led into dinner, but you might manage to take hold of my elbow all the same and pretend it is less awkward than it is.”

  She laughed and put her hand on his elbow as he’d suggested. He “walked” her into the dining room, where Joshua waited with her chair pulled out. Once she was seated, Joshua helped Harry take his seat, which was much more difficult than assisting Sabrina had been.

  Then Joshua left to fetch the soup course.

  “What is behind all this?” she said, looping her hand through the air.

  “A show of gratitude,” Harry said. “It was exactly twenty-nine days ago that you saved me from the streets of London and . . . myself.” He smiled sheepishly, then hurried to continue his explanation. “I thought it fitting for us to have a dinner party of our own on my last night at Rose Haven.” He spread his arms wide. “At your expense in your dining room in your house, yes, but let us not forget that it was my idea.”

  She laughed. “Ideas are what change the world.”

  “Precisely.”

  Joshua entered with a soup dish in each hand. He set Sabr
ina’s in front of her and then set Harry’s in front of him.

  Harry lifted his spoon. “There is one more reason for the dinner. Therese told you my uncle will be ready for me after my appointment tomorrow? She said she would write to you in London about it.”

  She stared into the soup, stirring her spoon through the broth as she nodded. “She did,” she said. Was it his imagination, or did she sound disappointed? After a moment, she looked up with a smile. “I’m very glad you will be able to go to your uncle. I know you are eager to repair that relationship.”

  “I am,” Harry said with a nod. “Did Therese tell you of my need for a carriage and possibly to have Joshua attend me to London?”

  “Yes. And whatever you need is at your disposal.”

  He put his hand on hers and gave it a squeeze. “Thank you.” He paused and looked around the lovely dining room. “I shall miss being here at Rose Haven.” He almost said, “I shall miss you the most,” but stopped himself in time. He’d promised himself he would not say or do anything that might be misinterpreted.

  She turned back to her soup. “Rose Haven will miss you too,” she said. “Have you decided what to do about your estate?”

  “Yes!” He grinned. “I had a letter from Lord—Well, the lender who has made my recovery possible, and he has said that if all goes well with Malcolm, we shall renegotiate the contract. He is willing to give me an actual mortgage on the estate, which might spare me from having to sell it.”

  Her expression was rather neutral, he thought, for such remarkable news. “That sounds like a perfect solution.”

  “I don’t know what I did to deserve two such saviors as I have had in you and this lender, but I shall not let either of you down. Now, what did you do in London?”

  She told him of seeing friends and doing some shopping and preparing for her trip. He asked when she would go to Brighton, how long she would be there, how long the voyage to Naples would be. The more she talked, the more comfortable she became, and the more he had to keep himself from thinking that they would not have this chance again. Tomorrow, everything would change, and though he was eager to move forward on all that he needed to do, there was a growing hope that she might miss him as much as he would miss her.

  How would she react if he showed up on her doorstep a year from now? He could as easily imagine her pulling her brows together and shutting the door in his face as he could imagine her clasping her hands together and smiling at him adoringly. Actually, he could not picture the adoring smile.

  The custard dishes were empty, and he could tell she was tired from her journey. Harry signaled for Joshua, who brought the crutches and helped Harry to his feet. Joshua then pulled out Sabrina’s chair, Harry put out his arm, and Sabrina took it without him asking her to.

  “And what else have you planned for the evening?” she asked.

  Harry frowned in embarrassment. “I’m afraid all I planned was dinner. Therese made me promise to return to my room as soon as we were finished.”

  Sabrina straightened. “Good heavens, if I’d known that, I would not have let the dinner draw into two hours.”

  “She did not set a time, only the end of dinner, so we have complied with her instruction perfectly.”

  Sabrina shook her head and looked at his leg. “How are you feeling?”

  He paused but then told the truth. “I will be all right, though I am looking forward to lying in my bed again. I need to improve my mobility now that I shall not have Therese and Joshua at my beck and call.”

  They reached the bottom of the stairs, and she turned to face him. “I worry that your leaving is premature, Harry. I shouldn’t want your recovery to be compromised.”

  “I wish it were an option to keep things exactly as they are, but it is not to be.”

  He would meet with Malcolm in the morning and settle the last of his debts, then go to Uncle Elliott’s London house for one week before removing to Howard House for another month at least. He would be only fifteen miles from Falconridge at that point and could better manage the changes that needed to be started there.

  By October he hoped to be settled into the house he had not lived in since childhood and working on the improvements more directly. He was looking forward to proving himself and building a respectable life. Lady Sabrina had risen above her birth and marriage; he could rise too.

  At some point, he would revisit his uncle’s offer of inheritance upon marriage. If the idea crossed his mind that no other woman would have the conversation and intellect he admired so much in Sabrina, he pushed it aside. He needed to get used to a different life than he’d known before he could truly consider sharing that life with someone else.

  “You have saved my life,” Harry said, leaning on one crutch so he could reach out and run his thumb down her cheek. He had not realized the intimacy of the touch until she shivered slightly. He held her eyes and dared not try to interpret what he saw in them. Longing? A wish that things were different? He was quite sure that was what she was seeing in his.

  Harry became aware of Joshua hovering in the hallway behind him and removed his hand. “Thank you, again, for everything, Lady Sabrina. The impact you have made on my life will not be soon forgotten. And thank you for the use of Joshua and the carriage tomorrow.”

  Joshua took his cue and stepped forward, followed by Steven, who had apparently been waiting around the corner. Harry had forgotten it would take both of them to return him to the upper floor.

  Sabrina stepped back from him as the men approached. “Might I come and read a chapter once you are ready for bed?”

  “That would be a perfect ending to a perfect evening,” Harry said with a grin that settled the energy between them back to that of friends. “I may even finish that lap rug if I can talk you into two chapters instead of one.”

  It was nearly an hour later when Sabrina knocked on his door. She’d changed into a fresh dress—light yellow with blue accents at the hem and sleeves. Her raven hair was down and plaited to hang over her shoulder. Harry had a momentary vision of a bride entering her new husband’s chamber on their wedding night. He set down his knitting.

  “I hope it is all right that I undid myself from the day,” she said nervously, flicking a hand at her hair. “My head was beginning to ache, and I find releasing my hair from the pins is often the best way to stave off the worst of the discomfort.” She gave him a sheepish smile, and Harry could not bring to mind the memory of even one of the many women he had pursued in all the years of his life. Lady Sabrina had rendered all of them inconsequential.

  The wanting he felt, however, filled him with shame and regret. Shame for letting his thoughts about her venture into such baseness, and guilt for the realization that having acted out on all those other moments of wanting had put a woman like Sabrina out of his reach. She did not know the details of how far-reaching his debauchery truly was, and, if she did, she would certainly not laugh over the dinner table or present herself so casually.

  “It is f-fine, of course,” he said and pasted a smile on his face that he hoped hid the direction of his thoughts. “I have been in a nightshirt every time we’ve met, except for the first time in that alley and dinner tonight. On what grounds could I possibly object?” When she smiled in return, he forced his eyes away from her and picked up his knitting. “I must say I had no idea you had so much hair. It must weigh ten pounds at least.”

  Sabrina laughed as she crossed the room and pulled the chair close to his bed. “My mother’s hair was the same, thick and long and, yes, heavy. I appreciate you having no objection to the lack of formality.”

  “Of course,” he said, shrugging as though he were completely unaffected.

  She seemed nervous, too, and though he wondered why, he dared not let the thought linger. “Chapter seven tonight, I believe,” he said brightly to cover all that he was feeling. “And eight, if you’ve time.”

  She nodded toward the lap blanket. “Assuming your fingers don’t cramp before then.”
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br />   “Cramp?” he said, offended. “Cramping is for amateurs, and I have been knitting for nigh on ten days now.”

  She smiled, then opened the book and turned several pages. “All right then, chapter seven.”

  By the time she closed the book some time later, Harry had managed to recover from the desire he’d felt when she’d entered the room. The lap rug was not as long as he would have liked, but, in fact, his hands had begun to cramp halfway through chapter nine. Of course, he couldn’t say as much.

  “You did not finish,” she said, nodding toward the pile of yarn in his lap.

  “I shall have time in the carriage tomorrow, fear not.”

  She placed the book on the nightstand. Then she moved the chair back to its place, crossed to the fireplace, and pulled the cord that would bring up his glass of warm milk. She looked at the rise of his covers over his right leg.

  “Is it feeling better?”

  “Not yet,” Harry said, setting his knitting on the unoccupied side of the bed meant for two. “But it will.”

  She furrowed her lovely black brows. “You overdid it today.”

  “Perhaps,” he said. “I shall be careful tomorrow once I am at my uncle’s house. You must trust that I have no desire to run faster than I have strength in this, Sabrina. I never want to be this dependent ever again, and I will mind myself accordingly so that I do not go backward in my progress.”

  “You have become a much better patient over time.”

  He cringed to think of that first week when his need for drink had been all-encompassing. “I like to think that the separation from the vices that landed me here has allowed me to become the man I should have been all along.”

  She looked up at him, a thoughtful expression in those eyes the color of strong coffee. Oh, how he would miss the way she inspired him to be a better man. She had told him that what he felt for her was friendship, but after the days when he had missed her and the evening they had just shared, he no longer believed it. What he felt for her was much more. He longed to hear her thoughts with the same yearning he felt to touch her shoulder, kiss her throat. He wanted to know more about her childhood, her marriage, her friends. There was such a wholeness about her, a deep and rich draw that contributed to dangerous sensations inside him.