A Rogue's Downfall, page 19
He plotted his revenge quite coldly. All his attention was concentrated upon it for the remaining days of his stay at Holly House. He lost interest in all else. He terminated his affair with Lady Myron with one pretty speech and neglected to develop the affair with Mrs. Hunter that had had such an extremely promising beginning. His nights were spent alone. He did not sleep a great deal more than he had done during the first two weeks of his stay—though he doubtless expended a great deal less energy—but at least he was alone. He tended to spend many hours of each night lying on his back with his hands clasped beneath his head, thinking. And reliving a certain kiss, which had been easily the least lascivious he had ever given, even as a green boy.
His plot approached its culmination two nights before the guests were to leave Holly House. After the ladies had left the dinner table and after the gentlemen had drunk their port and risen and stretched and decided that the moment of rejoining the ladies could be postponed no longer, he spoke quietly to Mr. Peabody, asking if he might have a private word with that gentleman the next morning on a matter of some importance.
And then he proceeded to the drawing room to tell Miss Nancy Peabody about his hopes and anxieties, though with the skill of long practice he succeeded in gathering about him almost all the ladies before he began to speak and soon enough all the gentlemen were listening too.
It had been well done, he thought in self-congratulation as the evening proceeded. And tomorrow would come the denouement. There was only one part of it that he was unsure about—totally unsure.
And so he had a largely sleepless night again.
He had noticed her slipping from the drawing room, unseen and unlamented by everyone. No, not by everyone. And even Mrs. Peabody missed her when guests had talked up the thirst for second cups of tea and there was no little shadow seated behind the tray to pour them.
Well, tomorrow, he thought with grim satisfaction, his hands clasped behind his head. Ah, yes, tomorrow. But his heart thumped with unaccustomed nervousness when he thought about part of tomorrow.
All the ladies were gathered in the salon by late morning. All of them without exception. Even Mrs. Delaney, Lady Myron, and Mrs. Hunter were there, and even those ladies who usually slept until noon and then spent another hour or two in their dressing rooms with their maids.
The air positively pulsed with excited expectation. Mr. Bancroft had been closeted in the library with Mr. Peabody since shortly after breakfast. Nancy and Mrs. Peabody had explained to everybody who had been unfortunate enough not to witness it for themselves— though in fact there was no such person, except Patricia—that before leaving the breakfast room Mr. Bancroft had bowed over Nancy’s hand again and lifted it to his lips again and gazed at her with adoring eyes—the adjective was supplied by Mrs. Peabody, Nancy being too modest to use it herself—and murmured to her that he had one hour of excruciating anxiety to live through before putting the question to some lady—he had emphasized the words, not naming her—the answer to which would determine the happiness or misery of the whole of the rest of his life.
Nancy was becomingly flushed. Her eyes shone. She looked about her with slightly elevated nose as if she pitied all the other lesser mortals who were not about to receive an offer from Mr. Bancroft. She was dressed in her very best muslin, though it was still only morning, and her hair was a glorious and intricate mass of carefully constructed ringlets and curls.
She looked, Susan declared, faint envy in her voice, like a princess.
They all waited for the moment when the door would open and someone—surely the butler himself and not a mere footman—would summon Nancy to the library to receive the addresses of her beau.
Patricia sat quietly on her chair just behind Mrs. Peabody’s, thinking determinedly about her own planned talk with her uncle during the afternoon if in all the excitement she could get him alone. She was going to ask him if he knew how she would go about applying for employment as a governess or schoolteacher.
And then the door handle was heard to turn and all the ladies fell instantly silent and turned toward the door, awaiting the summons. Nancy sprang to her feet, her hands clasped to her bosom. Mrs. Peabody smiled graciously about at her gathered guests.
It was neither a footman nor the butler who opened the door and stood in the doorway for a moment, looking impossibly handsome and elegant, before proceeding inside the room. It was Mr. Bancroft himself. Nancy’s lips parted and she leaned a little toward him. Mrs. Peabody clasped her own hands to her bosom.
“Ma’am,” Mr. Bancroft said, proceeding across the carpet toward Mrs. Peabody, smiling at her, and then turning his gaze on Nancy, “my meeting with Mr. Peabody has been brought to a successful and happy conclusion. It seems that at least some of the anxieties that kept me awake and pacing last night have been laid to rest.”
Mrs. Peabody sighed. “Of course, my dear sir,” she said. “Mr. Peabody has never been a difficult man with whom to deal. He would certainly not find it difficult to deal with a future baron.”
But his eyes were upon Nancy, devouring her. “Miss Peabody,” he said, “may I be permitted to compliment you on your appearance this morning? Your taste in dress is, as always, exquisite. But as always the loveliness of your person quite outshines the finest muslin.”
“Oh, sir.” Nancy’s eyes were directed quite firmly on the floor.
“And so.” Mrs. Peabody’s voice had become hearty. “You will be wishing to step into another room or perhaps outside—”
“Outside, with your permission, ma’am,” Mr. Bancroft said with a bow. “It is a lovely day for a lovely lady and for what I hope will be a lovely conversation.”
“And you have a lovely way with words, sir,” Mrs. Peabody said regally. “You will wish to step outside, then, with my—”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, smiling his most dazzling and charming smile. “With your niece, if you please.”
Mrs. Peabody’s mouth hung open inelegantly. Nancy did a fair imitation of a statue. So did all the other ladies. Patricia’s head snapped up and all the blood drained out of it at the same moment. Mr. Bancroft continued to smile at his hostess.
“With my—?” she asked faintly.
“With your niece, ma’am,” he said, transferring his gaze and his smile to Patricia. “With Miss Mangan. I have your husband’s permission.”
“With—Patricia?” Mrs. Peabody stared at him in disbelief.
“Thank you, ma’am,” he said, bowing to her once more and stretching out a hand toward Patricia. “Miss Mangan, will you honor me with your company for a stroll outside?”
She merely stared at him, quite as dumbfounded as everyone else until his eyes warmed and one eyelid closed in a slow half wink. And she understood in a flash. She understood what he had done and was doing and why.
The—oh, the precious rogue!
She got to her feet and, when he stepped close enough, placed her hand in his. Her own was icy, she realized when she felt the warmth of his.
“Thank you, sir,” she said, allowing him to place her hand on his sleeve and lead her from the room, in which a pin might have been heard crashing to the carpet.
It was, Patricia decided, quite the most delicious moment of her life.
It had worked beautifully. He had feared that perhaps she would not be in the salon with the other ladies, that perhaps she would have to be sent for. That would have spoiled the drama of the moment a little. But she had been there and everything had proceeded according to plan, almost as if he had written the script and all the players had learned their lines and actions to perfection.
And here she was, tripping along at his side, the top of her head reaching barely to his chin. His little bird, who had kept him awake for a weekful of nights, though not in the usual way.
“To the lily pond?” he suggested when they were outside the house and down the marble steps. “It seems the appropriate place to go, does it not?”
“To the lily pond.” She smiled up at him, tying his stomach in unfamiliar knots. No one had told him that when she smiled she was pretty even by objective standards. Not that he could really see her by objective standards any longer.
He had expected her to be quiet, serious, wary. Puzzled. Reluctant to come with him. But she was still tripping along.
“Well, little bird,” he said, “did you like it? Was it appropriate?” He did not expect her to understand his meaning. He thought he would have to explain.
“It was quite the most fiendish scheme I have ever been a witness to,” she said. “It was cruel in the extreme. You will certainly fry for this one, sir. They are going to have to construct a particularly fiery corner for you in hell. I loved it.”
He chuckled. “Did you?” he said. “I expected that after I had confessed all to you, you would lash out at me with both sharp edges of your tongue. Have I pleased you, Patricia?”
She darted a startled look up at him. “Yes,” she said. “Thank you. Doubtless my life here will be made a misery once I have returned to the house and once you have gone on your way tomorrow, but it will be worth every moment. Perhaps I am cruel too, because undoubtedly Nancy will suffer dreadful mortification, but I cannot help feeling spiteful and glad. And I will not have to suffer for long. Soon I will be leaving here to teach.”
“Will you?” They were among the trees already, and he was parting branches for her so that her face and arms would not be grazed. “You have heard from the parson who has your father’s living?”
He watched her hesitate and then smile. “Someone else has that appointment already,” she said. “But it will be better to go somewhere new anyway. My uncle is going to help me find something. It will not take long, I think. I am looking forward to it.”
They were at the lily pond, and he gestured for her to sit down before seating himself close beside her. “Are you?” he said. “I am disappointed.”
She turned her head to look at him.
“It was common knowledge why I went to talk to your uncle this morning,” he said.
She smiled with bright mischief. “What did you talk to him about?” she asked. “You certainly deceived everyone quite spectacularly.”
“I went to talk about a marriage contract,” he said.
“Oh.” Her smile faded. “I see. I misunderstood. You are merely teasing her, then. Punishing her for a little while. You will ask her later today or tomorrow. Well ... Well, it is good enough. It still felt good.”
“Little bird.” He took one of her hands in his and held it tightly. His heart was thumping like a hammer. This was the part he had been unsure about. He was still unsure. “It was you I talked to your uncle about. It is you I intended—and have intended for all of the past week—to ask to marry me.”
She stared into his eyes, her own huge. Was she trying to drown him? She was succeeding.
“Will you?” he asked. “I can think of every reason in the world why you would say no, but I must ask anyway. Will you marry me, Patricia?”
“Why?” He saw her lips form the word though he heard no sound.
“Because I love you, little bird,” he said. “Because you flew down into my heart from the branch up there that first afternoon I saw you, and have lodged in my heart ever since. Because you have wrecked the life with which I have been quite contented for the past ten years and have got me to thinking of constancy and a permanent home and a garden and cats and dogs. And babies, my love. And you, darling.”
“You feel you owe it to me,” she said. “You think this is the best way to spite them. And you feel sorry for me. You don’t need—”
He dipped his head and kissed her. And brought one hand behind her head to hold it steady while he did it more thoroughly, parting his lips over hers, licking them and teasing his tongue through to the flesh within.
“And you are a rake,” she said.
“Guilty,” he said. “But past tense, not present or future, my love. I don’t know how I can be sure of that, and I certainly don’t know how I can convince you that I am. But I know it is true. I know it here, darling.” He held his free hand over his heart. “I will be a model husband, as reformed rakes are reputed to be, I believe. Or so someone once told me.”
He kissed her again. And coaxed her backward to the ground so that he could do so without having to hold her head steady. Her arms came about him as he slid his tongue past her teeth into her mouth.
“I have not a farthing to my name,” she said, twisting her face away from his after a heady couple of minutes. “You have to marry money because you have squandered your own fortune.”
“Tut,” he said. “Where did you hear such a malicious rumor, little bird? It is one I put about myself quite deliberately at regular intervals in order to discourage fortune-seeking mamas. On this occasion it seemed to work the other way, I must admit. I believe your aunt expected to have more power over a poor man than she would have had over one who was independently wealthy.”
“You are not poor?” she whispered.
“Not at all,” he said. “Gambling has never been one of my vices, my love, though almost everything else you might name has. Will you marry me now that you know I am almost indecently wealthy?”
“But I am not,” she said.
He kissed her again—her mouth, her eyes, her temples, her chin, her throat. He touched her breasts through the cotton of her dress and found them small but firm and well shaped. Perfect for his babies—and for his own delight.
“I cannot,” she said, pushing first his hands away and then his face. “I do not know—”
“I will teach you,” he said. “It will be my joy to teach you, Patricia. Little bird, I have not slept in a week, fearful that you would say no, knowing that I am unworthy of you, knowing that I have nothing to offer you but security and a fortune and my love. I am not going to let you say no. I was going to be very noble and honorable about it, but I have changed my mind. I am going to use all my expertise on you here, or as much of it as becomes necessary until you are mindless enough to say yes. Say yes now so that I will not have to live with guilt afterward. Why are you laughing?”
Gloriously, wonderfully, she was laughing up at him. Giggling up at him, her arms about his neck.
“You lifted me down from that tree without waiting for my permission to do so,” she said. “And you took me home from the picnic last week with only the choice of whether I would go on your arm or over your shoulder. Why change things now? Why wait for my acceptance? You might as well marry me and be done with it.”
He was sure of her suddenly. All anxiety fled, leaving not a trace behind. He grinned down at her. “Parsons can be sticky customers, though, little bird,” he said. “They wait to hear the bride say yes and will not proceed with the marriage service until she has done so. Unreasonable of them, I always say, but that is the reality. Are you going to say yes when he asks?”
Her eyes were huge again. “Are you quite, quite sure, sir—Mr. Bancroft?” she asked.
“Josh,” he said. “It is my name, you know. Joshua. My father was rather fond of the Bible. My sisters are Miriam and Hagar.”
“Joshua,” she whispered.
“Or darling for short,” he said, grinning at her again. “As with Patricia. Little bird for short. Will you marry me?”
“If you are quite, quite sure,” she said.
“I am quite, quite sure,” he said against her lips. “Will you?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “Joshua. Darling.”
“And three words more, if you please, little bird,” he said, closing his eyes and brushing his lips lightly over hers. “I have said them to you already.”
“You precious rogue,” she said out loud.
He threw back his head and shouted with laughter. “Well,” he said, looking appreciatively down at her, “you have asked for it now. I am going to have to live up to your expectations, am I not?”
“Yes, please, Joshua,” she said.
“Starting now?” He smiled tenderly at her.
“If you please, sir,” she said.
“Starting now, then,” he said, lowering his head.
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Mary Balogh was born and educated in Wales and now lives with her husband in Saskatchewan, Canada. She has written more than one hundred historical novels and novellas, more than thirty of which have been New York Times bestsellers. They include the Bedwyn saga, the Simply quartet, the Huxtable quintet, and the seven-part Survivors’ Club series.
The Westcott Series
Someone to Love
Someone to Hold
Someone to Wed
The Survivors’ Club Septet
The Proposal
The Suitor
The Arrangement
The Escape
Only Enchanting
Only a Promise
Only a Kiss
Only Beloved
The Huxtable Quintet
First Comes Marriage
Then Comes Seduction
At Last Comes Love
Seducing An Angel
A Secret Affair
The Simply Quartet
Simply Unforgettable
Simply Love
Simply Magic
Simply Perfect
The Bedwyn Saga
Slightly Married
Slightly Wicked
Slightly Scandalous
Slightly Tempted
Slightly Sinful
Slightly Dangerous
The Bedwyn Prequels
One Night For Love
A Summer to Remember
The Mistress Trilogy
More Than A Mistress
No Man’s Mistress
The Secret Mistress
The Horsemen Trilogy
Indiscreet
Unforgiven
Irresistible
The Web Trilogy
