But she was
sure that, apart from rejecting his suit, she had not wronged
Worsley.
So why,
now, was he behaving in such an incomprehensible manner? Could it
be that his sense of morality was so rigidly attuned that he found
her very presence repugnant?
She
considered the possibility for a moment and thought there might be
some truth in it. One could not say how most gentlemen truly were,
beneath the veneer of civil gentility that they wore to
impress.
Whatever the reason, the earl’s behavior
had inspired her to
act in a manner that was more characteristic of the girl she had
once been than the one she was now. After the men had re-joined
them following their port and cigars, Rachel had taken it upon
herself to confront Worsley and make him speak to her directly. Her
previous reserve had been consumed by her anger at his cruel
summation of her situation and she had been determined to make him
heed her. With this in mind, she had cast around for a ruse to
waylay him and had found inspiration in the written word. She had
recalled that his lordship had been a keen enthusiast of William
Shakespeare and had gone to find something in the bookshelves in
the library, returning just in time to artfully place herself
around the door while idly flicking through a copy of
Much Ado About
Nothing
(which seemed an apt selection when one considered the
matter). It was not unusual for family and guests to take a turn or
two about the parlor after dinner to stretch their legs and allow
for better digestion. She had hoped she looked suitably casual but
wasn’t overly troubled by the idea that she might not. If Worsley
suspected that she had been waiting for him, he was perfectly
correct and she did not give a fig if he deduced her ploy. In fact,
all the better if he did and she hoped he felt exceedingly
uncomfortable.
When the gentlemen had entered
the room she had come forward,
stepping directly in front of Worsley who had come to such an
abrupt stop that Adam, walking behind him, had been forced to
sidestep adroitly to avoid a collision.
‘
My Lord,’ she had said with bracing civility, a smile fixed
firmly in place. ‘I seem to recall that you are partial to Mr.
Shakespeare. Is that not so, Sir?’
Directly
confronted, Worsley had had little choice but to respond or ignore
her, thereby looking like a scoundrel. One did not ignore a family
member in her own household. If one had such reservations then one
simply did not come.
He had
come. Therefore, he was stuck. If he had walked away from her
conversational gambit the snub would have reverberated throughout
the room.
‘
Why yes, Miss Sheridan,’ he’d returned stiffly, after a
moment. ‘I am fond of his works.’
‘I thought as much. I hope that you had ample opportunity
to enjoy the theatre when you were abroad. Papa said that he could
recall seeing a particularly entertaining version of
Julius
Caesar
in
Florence. Do they still perform his plays there?’
He had
obviously been taken aback by the question for it required an
actual answer that would occupy more than three words and he had
been forced to give her a satisfactory response. Better, he had
been forced to do so in a manner that suggested he was not grinding
out every word. It had helped that Adam had paused to join them,
leaving little room for Worsley to wiggle out of his obligations as
a guest.
‘Nash
always did like such stuff,’ Adam had observed jovially. ‘Mind you,
we couldn’t get him to perform in the plays at school. He was
always too skittish.’
‘
Indeed?’ Rachel had returned, eyeing Worsley with malicious
delight. ‘Were you shy, my lord?’
‘
I cannot recall,’ he had returned frostily.
‘
He was,’ Adam chuckled. ‘Never any airs and graces in our
Worsley. The only time we could get him on stage was when we poured
three jugs of wine in him and dressed him up as -’
‘
I am sure that Miss Sheridan does not want to hear of my
youthful foolishness,’ the earl had interrupted, trying very hard
not to sound like he was talking through clenched teeth.
‘Oh, but
of course I do,’ she had replied promptly. ‘Do tell me more, Sir.
What role did you persuade his lordship to undertake?’
‘
Can you not guess, my dear Rachel?’ Adam had prompted,
grinning at his friend with devilish glee.
Rachel
had narrowed her eyes the better to give the matter her
consideration. ‘Titania? Rosamund? Oh, never say he was
Juliet!’
‘Nothing
so dramatic,’ Adam had assured her. ‘Our clever fellow here had
something far meatier to sink his teeth into. He was -’
‘
Casterton!’ There had been a desperate note in the earl’s
voice.
‘Kate from
The Taming Of the Shrew
!’ Adam had finished, rather
triumphantly.
Despite
herself, Rachel had given a genuine chuckle of amusement. ‘Oh my!
And was he a triumph?’
‘
I fell on my face after throwing a punch at Petruchio,’
Worsley had replied in Adam’s stead. ‘My one regret is that I did
not hit my target.’
‘
I played Petruchio,’ Adam had explained, grinning broadly.
‘And he was right, he did fall on his face. Drunk as a lord, that
was our Nash. But you should have seen him in
petticoats…’
It had
been an amusing anecdote and, for a moment, Worsley had seemed far
less the censorious enemy and far more like the man she had once
enjoyed spending time with. Intent on keeping him talking, Rachel
had pursued her discussion on his time abroad and he had told her
that there were several illustrious playhouses in Florence that he
had visited regularly. She had expressed an avid interest and the
earl had been trapped in a conversation she suspected he really did
not wish to have. Despite his earlier flash of humanity, Rachel
could not find it in her heart to feel any sympathy for the man.
Forcing him to behave with civility seemed small recompense for his
mean spirited assessment of her current circumstances. Some devil
had persuaded her to go even further and she had laid her hand on
his arm as they had moved towards the group gathered around the
fireplace.
‘
Do tell me more of Florence, my lord. I have always wanted to
travel.’
Looking
back on that moment, Rachel smiled reluctantly. It must have irked
him unbearably to be forced to act contrary to his inclinations but
he had performed his duty admirably, discussing the cities he had
been to and their particular delights. The fact that his audience
had increased when they were seated had helped, of course, but it
had been Rachel who had continued to ply him with questions, ably
assisted by Liza who had an insatiable curiosity for absolutely
everything. She had half expected him to excuse himself and retire
but he had stoically remained and she thought she had detected a
glint in those grey eyes as her relentless badgering had
continued.
He had known
exactly what she had been about. How could he not? And she
had the impression that he had accepted the challenge she had
thrown down in insisting that he deal with her. Curiously, she had
retired oddly invigorated by her encounter and had gone to bed
satisfied that she had stood up for herself in some small way. She
may be ruined, she may be an outcast but she would
not
be an object of
scorn from an invited guest. If Worsley had serious issues in
dealing with her, he should have refused to come to
Thorncroft.
Civility was the
very least that might be expected of him. It some
peculiar way, it had given her a good deal of satisfaction to lock
horns with him conversationally.
Waking
had dimmed her triumph at the victory she felt she had secured the
previous evening, however, and as she sat down to her morning cup
of tea, taken before her window and her favorite view of the
garden, she was in a more somber state of mind.
While it
was gratifying to have routed Worsley’s antipathy, she had even
greater hurdles to manage today. Tonight was the first dance that
had been hosted at Thorncroft in nearly four years. While it had
been a week away she could safely ignore it or even pretend that it
would be easy enough to manage, but now that the actual day was
upon her, Rachel had to admit that she felt a little sick at the
prospect of seeing people she had not encountered for a very long
time. Even when she went out riding, which she did frequently, she
tended to ride on Sheridan land, heading away from the riding paths
that she knew were frequented by her neighbors. She had been
particularly good in avoiding them, so much so that she had not
encountered any of the people who had cut her from their
acquaintance since she had gone up to London, filled with
anticipation at commencing her first Season.
She could only
wonder what they would find to speak to her about tonight, if they
deigned to do so at all.
‘Worsley,
Charity and local families who cannot understand why my parents
have not shuffled me off to Wales,’ Rachel mused, eyeing the snow
beyond her window. ‘This is going to be an exceedingly tiresome
evening.’
Tiresome
or not, Rachel was determined to smile through the affair until her
face ached, rather than let her family trouble themselves on her
account. It was, after all, one night. Admittedly it was the first
night she had been on display in public but Rachel had long seen
the necessity of building bridges with the local gentry, perhaps
more so than her parents had. They would defend her until their
last breath but there was no getting away from the fact that she
was not their only child. Despite the fact that Charlotte would be
socializing with another group of people in Warwickshire, there was
still Liza’s future to consider. Rachel was sure her young sister
was eccentric enough to generate talk of her own in years to come.
Her family would need all the good will they could generate if they
were to successfully carry off thrusting Elizabeth Sheridan onto
the local social calendar in another eight years or so. It might
take all of those years to repair the good name of the Sheridans as
a whole and someone had to start somewhere.
It was going to
start tonight.
At least,
she reflected ruefully, Worsley wouldn’t be hard pressed to find
others who shared his sentiments about the deplorable Rachel
Sheridan. Her efforts the evening before had been to soothe her own
ruffled feelings but she did not believe for a moment that she had
changed his mind. And did she really want to? After the wedding –
and the celebrations that would follow – he would be off to London
or Warwickshire or even back to the Continent, for all she knew and
she would in all likelihood never see him again, which would suit
her very well.
She had no
desire to continue an association that was so very
uncomfortable.
Except that she very well might
have to if he was Adam’s best friend
and close neighbor. It might be that their paths might cross again
in the future, despite their individual efforts not to have that
happen. Rachel was perfectly sincere when she had told Charlotte
that she intended to visit her new home often. Living at Thorncroft
was far from onerous but she was genuinely looking forward to
traveling a little and there had been few enough opportunities to
do so. Charlotte, bless the girl, would always welcome her oldest
sister. She would be careful not to go about, lest she blight the
new Lady Casterton’s chances of settling in, but a new house with
new grounds to explore would increase her own small world
dramatically and she intended to be a regular visitor at
Fallowfield.
If
Worsley intended to remain in England and to take up his
interrupted life on his home estate, he would be sure to call upon
Adam on a regular basis, which might prove interesting if Rachel
was visiting and they happened to encounter each other. She
wondered if his opinion of her might change over time but decided
almost immediately that it was unlikely. Nothing could change her
past, after all and it was her past that condemned her.
‘This is
so very tiresome,’ she sighed. ‘Of all the people that Adam might
count as friend, why does Worsley have to be his oldest and
best?’
Fate, wicked fate,
infuriating
fate definitely had a sly sense of humor, bringing
this circumstance about.
‘
I just want to get on with my simple, undemanding life,’ she
told her teacup. ‘With possibly a trip to France thrown in
occasionally to enliven things.’
It was not a lot to ask from a life that had promised so
much but had
delivered disaster. Rachel sighed and stretched her toes
towards the flames in the hearth. Wrapped in a rug, a fire burning
cheerfully, she leaned forward and poured herself a second cup of
the now tepid tea. She often took an early morning tray by the
window, her bedroom overlooking the rear gardens and the lovely
outlook of trees beyond. For over three years she had watched the
seasons change before her eyes and had found solace in the simple
beauty. She could honestly say that she was not unhappy, that she
had not been unhappy since her ragged, overwrought emotions had
settled again after her retreat from London. There had been dark
days, to begin with, but she knew now that had been from a
combination of shock and a kind of violent assault to the senses as
a more complete understanding of her own folly had
penetrated.