As he went inside, Tyndale was pleased to find that such had been the case.
Seymour set at a table in the taproom that was placed well back from the fire so that he sat in shadow. A bored barmaid with dull eyes sat listlessly on his knee while Seymour twisted an empty glass between his restless fingers and stared into nothingness. The man didn’t so much as flinch when another of the tavern’s patrons through an empty bottle of gin into the grate, sending up a crash of breaking glass and a whoosh of flame as the fire consumed the dregs of the alcohol.
Studying him closely, Tyndale took a seat across from him but said nothing. After a moment or two, Seymour turned his direction, his eyes sharpening. Fortunately, he was not as top-heavy as Tyndale had at first supposed. In fact, his eyes cleared and sharpened as soon as he recognized the guest at his table.
“Lord Tyndale. I thought it would not be long before you came calling.”
“Which leaves me to wonder why you chose to flaunt your presence at Havencrest today.”
Seymour pushed the barmaid off his knee—she left with only a slight scowl to show her displeasure—and poured himself another glass of brandy. “You will have noticed that I left your precious ward alone.”
Tyndale waited for the man to finish his drink, then said, “You are mistaken if you think my niece is the only woman I wish to keep safe from ruin at your hands.”
Seymour’s brow furrowed. “Ruin? But…you’re not such a simpleton. You know I must marry them, her… one of them.”
Perhaps not quite so sober after all. “Disabuse yourself of the idea that marriage to you would be anything but ruin.”
Tapping his empty glass on the table, Seymour sat quietly for several long seconds, as if sorting through his words. “What concern is it of yours if I marry that Thorne woman? I’ll let her go her own way. It makes no difference to me once I have control of her fortune you know. In fact, I would prefer to have as little to do with her as possible. Why is it always the ugly ones that have the most money?”
Tyndale restrained himself, though only just, from beating the man into a pile of broken limbs. “You do not need to know anything other than that I am making her my concern.”
Seymour’s posture had begun to slouch, but now he sat up straight in indignation. “But you can’t do that. She’s my only hope of avoiding—” he broke off sharply, deciding too late to keep his affairs to himself.
“The creditors are after you, are they? I suspected as much. If you’re wise, you’ll take my advice and get out of the country before you land in a debtor’s prison. You have the perfect means to escape with ships leaving the harbor at all hours.”
Seymour glared at him. “You’d prefer that, wouldn't you? Well, I do not. No, I. He stood and left, knowing that if he stayed longer, the man’s nose would never recover. But Seymour called him back in an amused voice. “I see now. You want her for yourself.” He laughed and slapped his hand on the table. “Sorry, my lord, but you’ll have to do with a bit of competition. And I fancy I made a great deal of progress with the lady in question this afternoon. Yes, I expect that within a few more days, I shall have her eating from my hands. Having the bans read will be enough to satisfy my creditors.”
He was so confident, so sure that he had cozened Joanna, that the humor of it overcame Tyndale’s ire. At least for the moment. He laughed. “You think so indeed? Well, you will learn differently. I came tonight for my own sake—because I could not stand to see your perfidious face about without making an attempt to shake you off. Which I could still do, very easily. Do not mistake it. But perhaps it will be more entertaining to see you go your length. A word of warning, however. You may want to take my earlier advice and save your skin while you still can.”
As he left, this time not looking back as Seymour called his name, he resigned himself to the days ahead. Yes, Seymour would court Joanna and he would let him. And in the end, when Joanna dropped him like a stone, he would be there to ensure Seymour didn’t harm her when he felt his fate close down upon him.
Chapter Eleven
There was but one course of action for Joanna to take—to keep Tyndale at a distance.
Which made her so angry that if she’d have been a man, they’d have had a good set to. But then, if she’d have been a man, they might have been able to be friends without the whole poison of marriage and money to ruin it.
As soon as she was able to draw Mrs. Pike away from Mrs.Garvey’s side, she pulled her aside to say, “I need your help, my dear dragon.”
“You know I will help you with anything, my dear,” Mrs. Pike said, her stern countenance lighting with zeal.
“I do know it, and I am counting on you. Today when the whole household goes into Brighton for the afternoon—and indeed, for the rest of the house party—I need you to keep Tyndale away from me as much as you can. I specifically wish to avoid being alone with him.”
But instead of her usual response when such a request as this was made, My Pike’s brows drew together in puzzlement. “But, why, Mrs. Thorne?”
Joanna pressed her lips together a moment, trying to control their tendency to dip into a frown and betray her deep emotion. But when she spoke, the tone of her voice betrayed her. “He has intimated that he intends to propose.”
“Well, of course, he does,” Mrs. Pike said. “Haven’t I been watching the two of you for days? So, pray, tell me why you want to avoid his proposal.”
Gasping, Joanna said, “Why would you think that I would want to receive it?”
“Because you’ve got stars in your eyes, ma’am, that’s why.”
“I do not. Why, you know very well I’ve done nothing but anger him and tease him and…”
“And help him with his concerns,” Mrs. Pike finished for her. “Getting yourself mixed in with as wicked a profligate as ever you have done before only to save some girl you don’t know and who has enough protection from her uncle. Yes, and the way you watch him whenever he’s in the same room with you, your whole face lighting up with pleasure.”
Joanna’s face and neck grew hot. “You are imagining things.”
“You know I never take flights of fancy, Mrs. Thorne. You, like it or not, are in love with Lord Tyndale. So, if the man means to propose, tell me why you wish to keep him from it.”
Appalled, Joanna realized that part of the heat on her cheeks were hot tears. She brushed them away ruthlessly and sniffed. “Because I’m not the kind of woman a man like him should want to marry. And you and I both know why he does. I won’t have it.”
Mrs. Pike tipped up her chin, her expression very nearly resembling a stone Griffin. “I do not agree with your estimation of the facts, Mrs. Thorne. But your sainted father left me to watch over you and help you as you saw fit, so I’ll do so. But mark my words, you’ll regret doing so.”
Joanna took a deep, shaky breath. “I regret a great deal, Mrs. Pike. But I won’t take a step that I’ll regret even more. Now, I must get ready to go. I’ve told Lizzie to set out my new walking dress and that absurdly expensive bonnet we bought in London. I want Mr. Seymour to believe I am trying to impress him, you know. Otherwise, he may wonder about my enthusiasm as I find it very difficult to so much as smile at him.”
“I notice you haven’t had that trouble with Lord Tyndale.”
Joanna nearly stomped her foot. “Mrs. Pike, I implore you—leave it alone. Please?”
Mrs. Pike shook her head and sighed, but did so.
And she certainly did her duty that afternoon in Brighton. She kept close to Joanna the entire afternoon, trailing far enough behind her that Mr. Seymour did nothing more than cast annoyed glances her way as they walked up and down the strand. When they moved to the seashore, Joanna saw Tyndale approaching them, but Mrs. Pike pretended to twist her ankle on a rock as he drew up next to her and thereby distracted him.
It was a pity, and one more reason for Joanna to resent Tyndale’s perfidy in betraying their friendship. If he had not been so contrary as to want to marry her,
she might have been able to escape Seymour’s sickly sweet courtship and enjoy the afternoon. Not that watching Tyndale carrying Mrs. Pike off the beach wasn’t vastly entertaining.
Later that evening after a very long and trying day of more entertainments, including a gig race back at Havencrest, attended by the Prince Regent and a whole host of his cronies, seemingly for the sole purpose of casting ridiculous wagers on the outcome of it, Joanna returned to her bedchamber with a terrible ache in her head. She sat in her dressing gown as Lizzie brushed her hair, staring at her woebegone face and thinking that misery made her even more homely than ever, when a knock sounded on the door.
While Lizzie sat the brush down and went to see who it was, Joanna picked the brush up herself and pulled her hair over one shoulder to brush it herself, sure that it was only Mrs. Pike come to talk over the success of her afternoon strategy.
But the voice that spoke through the open doorway was warm-timbered and masculine—and achingly familiar.
“I have come to return Mrs. Thorne’s writing case.”
Joanna put the brush down and stood, tugging her dressing into place. As she turned toward the door, she saw Lizzie curtsy and step back with the case in hand. And there, beyond her in the doorway, stood Lord Tyndale, still in his evening clothes, his dark eyes finding hers across the short distance between them.
Compelled by some inward force she would not name, Joanna went toward him. Lizzie moved away, leaving the path between them clear.
“Thank you,” Joanna said. “But you did not need to return it yet. I have little use for it at the moment.”
Tyndale smiled down at her—a softer smile than she had ever before beheld from him. “I purchased my own supplies today. It would have been too ill-mannered to continue using all of yours. And you will find that I have replaced what I have used.”
How did he make her smile even when she felt so wretched inside? But here he was talking of paper and wafers and ink. “That was very thoughtful of you but unnecessary.”
“Perhaps, but you will discover that it was self-serving as well.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. And you should appreciate it, my adorable schemer. Nearly as much as I appreciate the picture you make with your lovely hair down, gleaming in the candlelight.” He reached out then and slowly ran a strand of it between his fingers, then bowed and walked away without another word.
And if Joanna had still had her brush in her hand at that moment, she would have thrown it at him.
But she only contemplated how deeply satisfying that would have been for a moment before closing the door and rushing across the room to her writing case. “That will be all for tonight, Lizzie.”
Her maid smiled and dipped a curtsy before leaving the room with too knowing of a smile on her face. Joanna ignored it and opened the case.
There, on top of a neat stack of hot-press paper in its proper compartment set a folded note. Feeling breathless and almost dizzy from how quickly her heart beat, Joanna picked it up and unfolded it. But if that man had dared to write her a love poem or some such nonsense, she would cast it into the fire along with every such example of drivel she had ever received.
Instead, her eyes alighted on the words:
Do me a great favor, Joanna. The next time your schemes necessitate my carrying a clinging and melodramatic woman across a rocky, net-strewn, crowded beach to the great amusement of many onlookers who proved to be acquaintances of mine, please let it at least be yourself.
Delighted despite herself, Joanna let out a crack of laughter that was far from lady-like and pressed her hand to her mouth to stifle the curse word that nearly followed. Why did he have to so perfectly understand how to break through her defenses?
Chapter Twelve
Lord Tyndale sat next to Phoebe and her mother in a pew in old St. Peters church on Sunday but his thoughts were far from the sermon. Instead, he was trying to determine how best to court Joanna since his first attempts had been met with such a blatant rebuff. If it had been any other woman making such an obvious attempt to avoid him, he would have tucked away his disappointment and given up. But he was very sure that her response was not a reflection of her feelings for him—no, there was a definite current of attraction between them as well as a meeting of the minds—but due to some other obstacle.
With only three days remaining before the end of the house party, he needed to discover what it was. Otherwise, this courtship would become much more difficult. And if coming had made him as surely as a bear, leaving without having attached her affections would turn him into an ogre. Every joy and pleasant aspect of his previous life now paled in comparison to what he knew it could be with her a part of it.
A tug on his sleeve brought his attention around to Phoebe. “The sermon is over, Uncle. Do you intend to sit there like a statue all afternoon?”
He chuckled and stood, following her out into the aisle where he offered his arm to her mother.
“I quite enjoyed that,” Lady Tyndale said, smiling pleasantly as he led her out into the warm sunshine.
“Yes,” he replied, hoping she would not expect him to expound upon that as he would be at a complete loss.
Some of the other guests stood about in conversation, others drifted off on walks in couples or meandered through the headstones in the cemetery. As usual, his eyes sought for and found, Joanna. She was some distance away, standing in somber reflection before a headstone. With a sharp pang, he realized her parents must be buried there. A fierce desire to be at her side and comfort her nearly overwhelmed him. “Rachel, will you excuse me a moment?”
“Of course,” Lady Tyndale said, turning immediately toward a group of women she was friends with.
When Tyndale drew close to Joanna, she looked up and saw him coming. The emotions that flitted over her expression confirmed his suspicions—at first, she looked pleased, then alarmed, and then…wary? She did not run away, however, but returned toward her contemplation of the names carved into the headstones.
“I did not know they were buried here,” he said, keeping his voice low and gentle. “Though I suppose I should have.”
“Yes. I have come to pay my respects once already, that morning we met on the cliffs. And I had meant to leave it at that, but with thoughts of heaven and hell filling my mind, I felt a desire to return.”
Not knowing what to say since her feelings for her father particularly were painful for her, he looked about at the well-kept grounds and said. “It is a pleasant resting place, on a hill near the sea.”
She did not respond to him, however. Her thoughts remained fixed where they were before his interruption. “I have often wondered what my father might have been like if my mother had lived. I do not remember her well enough, but I do remember that she was sweet and kind. She seemed always to be smiling and I believe he was happier before she died.”
Thinking of what it would mean to him if he should be so fortunate as to make Joanna his wife and then lose her, his heart clenched. “I would imagine that the sunshine went out of his life.”
She looked up at him then, clearly thinking over his words as if they were a great puzzle to her. “Do you suppose that he once knew how to love and then lost the ability when he lost her?”
He sighed. “Not having known him, I cannot tell. But I do know that death changes us all. I have lost both of my parents and my brother. It has been like losing a limb or some other vital part of me with each of their deaths. But when I saw my sister-in-law lose her husband, I saw the light go out of her eyes. She has become merely a shade of the vibrant woman she once was. But she has continued to love Phoebe—perhaps more fiercely so. And her nature has never changed. But perhaps with your father, he needed someone like your mother to bring out his finer qualities, and when she was gone, his darker characteristics, driven by grief and loneliness, took over.”
A long silence stretched out between them during which he was sure that he had said more than he ought to have done, expounded on thought
s that had better been left unsaid. But at last, she said, “Thank you. I wish you had known him because I would have liked to have known your opinion of him—of many things. But you have given me much to think over. When my husband died, I felt nothing but relief and gratitude that God had at last set me free. But now I worry that was a sin. I wonder if perhaps it is time for me to forgive both him and my father.
Tyndale hated that there were too many witnesses about for him to take her in his arms or even to hold her hand in his. “If forgiving you will allow you to let the pain go, then I hope you may. You have suffered long enough at their hands.”
“And I will try to forgive you as well,” she said, her voice so soft he barely made out her words. And once he did, he thought surely he had misheard her.
“I earnestly hope you will, but what have I done that requires your forgiveness? I know I am far from perfect, but I do not know what I have done to offend you.”
She looked at him earnestly then, her eyes misting over with unshed tears. “The same as other men have done…you have flattered me to persuade me to marry you. You have hinted as much, so do not deny it. But you have been more cunning than all the others because you made me believe you meant all the horrid and wonderful things you said to me.”
“I’ll have you know I meant every horrid and wonderful thing I said to you. Particularly the horrid things. So please explain what you mean by my cunning and flattery.”
“You made me believe we were friends and that you would never desire more from me.”
“And what is wrong with desiring more from you?
“You make me want more too, but I dare not. I cannot. Please, do not ask me to put my life and happiness in your hands. Not when I stand to lose everything and you stand only to gain.”
The Vexatious Widow (Regency House Party: Havencrest Book 2) Page 7
