He did not
want
to feel any admiration for the woman, any more than he
wished to feel the keen knife of attraction that sliced through him
whenever he was in her presence. The fact that he found her
eminently easy to talk to did not in any way ease the conflicting
emotions that raged within him and he found cause to regret with
fresh intensity the necessity that had brought him to
Thorncroft.
After breakfast, a meal that Rachel Sheridan did not come
down to (leaving him both relieved and
paradoxically
, disappointed), he asked his host if he might look over
the stables and perhaps go for a ride. The prospect of fresh air
and physical action was appealing; perhaps he could ride off his
blue devils.
‘
But of course, my lord,’ Lord Sheridan had agreed amiably.
‘I’m not sure if you will find anything to your taste, but feel
free to have one of the grooms saddle up whatever you
fancy.’
‘Thank
you, Sir. I appreciate it.’
‘Do you
want some company?’ Adam inquired, pouring himself another cup of
coffee. As with most everything else in the Sheridan household,
breakfast was a relaxed affair. Warming dishes were laid out on the
sideboard and, while the coffee and tea were regularly replenished
with hotter versions, there were no hovering footmen or maids to
serve the guests. Nash found such informality to his
taste.
‘
I daresay you have a dozen things to do,’ Nash returned
easily. He did not want company, although if he had some, perhaps
his thoughts would not linger where they should not.
‘I can’t
think of a thing,’ his friend returned wryly. ‘Nothing says that he
is useless to a man more clearly than a wedding, where we are
frequently redundant. Frankly, it will be a relief to be
occupied.’
‘
I’ll join you,’ Lord Sheridan offered. ‘I can show you some of
the better rides.’
At that moment,
Rachel entered the room. Her feet did not exactly falter when she
saw him but he had the distinct impression that she was less than
sanguine at finding him there.
‘Ah,’ she
murmured, with a slight smile. ‘Good morning, Papa. Adam. Lord
Worsley.’
‘
Rachel,’ Adam said cheerfully. ‘You like a mad dash on the
back of a horse. Care for a ride?’
Rachel appeared
startled by the question. ‘Now, do you mean?’
‘
Why not? Unless you’re required to fuss over the wedding
arrangements.’
Rachel gave a
slight grimace that Nash was sure was unintentional. ‘Mama is
discussing tomorrow’s events with Charlotte and Charity.’
‘
Ah,’ her father replied understandingly. ‘Well then, you
should come along, my dear. The fresh air would do you
good.’
Rachel
hesitated and Nash could see the various emotions flickering across
her face. She did want to get out and ride, so much was obvious.
She just wasn’t sure about the company. Perversely, considering he
believed further exposure to the beautiful Miss Sheridan would be
bad for his emotional wellbeing, he found himself silently willing
her to agree.
‘
Oh do come,’ Adam cajoled. ‘If I do not escape, I fear that
Charlotte will decide I must clarify some part of the arrangements
and then I shall be pinned by Charity’s frosty glare.’ He dropped
his voice. ‘I do not mean to speak ill of one of your family
Rachel, but that woman makes my blood run cold. James has the
courage of a lion!’
As Adam knew perfectly well what the family thought of
Charity, this made Rachel laugh. ‘I am sure our family will forgive
you. And, lest you forget
dearest
Adam, you will shortly be related to the lady
yourself.’
Adam winced.
‘Is it too late to cry off?’
‘
Far too late,’ Lord Sheridan observed cheerfully, clapping his
soon to be son-in-law on the shoulder. ‘It’s settled then. We will
change for a ride and I will see you all in the stables
shortly.’
It wasn’t, Nash
reflected as he headed upstairs to change, how he had thought his
morning would go. His desire for solitude had been thoroughly
routed. But the prospect of riding alongside Rachel held an
undeniable attraction and he found that he was eagerly looking
forward to seeing the girl on horseback. He had never seen her ride
back in London. Their interaction had been limited to ballrooms and
Hyde Park, although he had one particularly vivid memory of her at
a picnic by the Serpentine. In his mind, she was still gloriously
illuminated by sunlight, sitting on pillows carefully arranged
around a blanket, laughing at something or other somebody had said.
Her hair had glowed molten gold, the sun behind her creating a kind
of hazy penumbra around her head and it had been impossible not to
think of heavenly creatures.
The
memory was as vivid now as it had been three and a half years ago
and he felt a pang of unease at creating new memories. He had
returned home determined to put the past behind him and here he
was, more or less reliving it. Except that now he no longer had
Rachel on a pedestal. Somehow, with her feet firmly rooted to the
ground, the situation felt more perilous by far.
Unsurprisingly, she was an excellent horsewoman who had a
light but certain hand with the reins and who obviously shared a
comfortable understanding with her mount. She was fetchingly
attired in a stylish riding habit; a close-fitting black velvet
jacket with a high Prussian collar and russet velvet skirts. A very
appealing high poked hat in which a jaunty red feather (from a
robin, perhaps) had been stuck in the band, sat atop Miss
Sheridan’s bright locks and Nash thought she looked rather
magnificent. She rode wonderfully well and the party enjoyed a
gallop across the snow covered fields that ran at the back of
Thorncroft. After an hour, Rachel’s cheeks were glowing from the
cold and the exercise and her green eyes sparkled. She looked to be
lit from within.
This is her only freedom, this mad dash across the
landscape. Riding, she can be free of the walls that confine her
to
what must
seem to be an inescapable future…
The
insight was unexpected but Nash felt the rightness of it
even as the thought came to him. He watched her ride ahead, heard
her laughter trail back over her shoulder and felt a familiar,
unwelcome clutch in his heart. This unfettered happiness was what
she had been born for. Creatures such as Rachel Sheridan were meant
for laughter, for love, to be held in the warm embrace of a man’s
arms. It really was a tragedy that it could never happen, not
unless she became some man’s paramour.
For a moment he
thought of what it would be like, suggesting to Rachel that she
become his mistress. He could put her up at one of his houses,
provide her with anything she might wish for. And at night, she
could share his bed and they could entertain each other for long,
delicious hours…
It was
one hell of a fantasy, but two extremely pertinent things told him
that it could be nothing more than that.
The first was that it was inconceivable to
propo
se any
such thing to the much loved of daughter of two entirely charming
people. No, it was a charming
family
, he amended wryly. Any such offer would not just
insult Lord and Lady Sheridan, but it must necessarily horrify
Charlotte and Adam, two people he was confident would figure large
in his future. To propose anything dishonourable to Rachel was to
cause affront to one of the nicest families he had ever
encountered. It was inconceivable to do anything so
impolite.
And the second reason that such a shocking proposal could
–
should
– never be made to Rachel was simply because… well, she
wasn’t
that
type of female.
She might have been branded that type of female to
the
ton
,
but having seen her once more, Nash knew that it simply wasn’t so.
One error of judgement, brought on by a foolish infatuation
(something he could claim to know something about), and Rachel
Sheridan was ruined for life. She might have been shamed in the
eyes of Society but one thing was perfectly clear; the eldest Miss
Sheridan would never do anything beyond the pale again. God knows
what madness had induced her to run off with Salinger but he was
prepared to wager such behavior would never be repeated. There was
something now, an element of caution that had certainly not been
there when he had courted her in London. Then she had been
gloriously frank, cheerfully uninhibited, expressing herself with a
refreshing honesty that a girl less blessed might have been
reprimanded for. In the beautiful Miss Sheridan it had been
tolerated. Even crotchety old dowagers had smiled indulgently,
pinching Rachel’s cheeks and telling her she was a minx.
That open, candid quality had gone, replaced by a careful
manner that only disappeared when he had ruffled her enough to
bring out the strong willed female beneath.
He had enjoyed that exchange far more
than he should have. She had crushed his resolve not to engage with
her far too easily, but it had been a pleasure to talk to her, to
engage with the intelligent, amusing creature that she was. It
seemed almost criminal that such a woman should shut herself away
from the world.
The thought
of her isolation, her determination to keep herself away
from an unsympathetic public, should not have troubled him but
there were so few truly interesting people in Society, the absence
of somebody who could make any gathering stimulating was a dreadful
waste.
For God’s sake, f
orget the girl! After this damned party I need
never see her again. Hell, if I play it right, I need never hear
her name again. She was nothing to me in the past and she is
nothing to me now. Less than nothing. By God, she turned her back
on any hope of redemption, running away with a married man. Dorian
Salinger of all people. Hell’s teeth, what possessed her to fall
for a creature like that?
Nash had quickly discovered that t
he idea of Rachel in Salinger’s arms
made his stomach roil uneasily, while the thought of her in the
man’s bed brought a hot flash of jealousy so intense that he was
immediately forced to turn his thoughts in another direction. He
had thought he had recovered from whatever fever Rachel had
inflicted on him that heady, not-to-be-forgotten summer, but every
moment he spent at Thorncroft only served to bring back an
obsession he had long since thought conquered.
Following
along behind that golden head crowned with its flirty, feckless
hat, Nash felt frustration well up within. If nothing else, this
trip had confirmed what he had most feared; that he had not won the
battle he had waged with his heart for years, let alone the war.
Was this, then, to be his future? To yearn for a woman that fate
and circumstance had put beyond his reach? Rachel Sheridan was
beyond the reach of any respectable man. Even if he gave in to the
madness that she seemed to provoke, he could not thumb his nose at
Society and offer for a girl who had been disgraced. Which made her
a mirage as far as Nash was concerned, a shimmering image of
unattainable perfection who could never be his.
Having enjoyed a decent gallop over the snowy fields,
they
came to
a stop and were about to return to the house when a voice hailed
them. All four riders turned to look towards two figures who were
making their way towards them on horseback.
‘I do
believe that is Mr. Thursby and his sister Violet,’ Lord Sheridan
observed quietly. He glanced at Rachel. ‘My dear, it is rather
cold. Why don’t you allow Lord Worsley to accompany you
home?’
Nash glanced at Rachel, alerted by the oddly
colorless tone used
by his host. Rachel looked uncertain but, after a moment’s
hesitation, her chin came up. ‘Actually, I think I shall stay. It
has been quite some time since I have said hello to Mr. Thursby and
Violet. They are coming tonight, are they not?’
‘Your
mother has invited the entire neighborhood.’
‘
In that case, we must certainly be polite.’ She shot her
father a reassuring smile. ‘They will be perfectly amiable. Really,
there is no need to worry.’
Nash
wondered if she was speaking as much to herself as to her father
for she did not seem entirely convinced. He and Adam exchanged a
glance and he could see a certain grimness in the set of his
friend’s mouth. He and Adam had not discussed Rachel’s situation at
all, but it was clear that he was perfectly familiar with it. And
that he felt the same sense of family solidarity that the rest of
the Sheridans had concerning Rachel.
He has judged Rachel
by his dealings with her, not her past. And he
doesn’t give a damn what anybody thinks.
A pan
g of guilt touched him, accompanied by an unwelcome curl of
shame. Did the fact that he was disinclined to judge his future
sister-in-law make Adam Casterton a better man than his peers or
merely a fool? Nash was inclined to think it was the former. Adam
was certainly no fool.
The new arrivals reached them and Nash ran his eyes over
the pair, assessing each of them
in turn. The female was young, excessively
pretty and stylishly – and expensively – dressed in a modish
sapphire blue riding habit. The gentleman on a big roan gelding
looked so much like her that he could not be anyone other than her
brother; both were brown eyed, fair haired and slim. Even while
greeting Lord Sheridan, they were looking at Rachel, the girl
consideringly, the man with such avid interest that Nash knew
immediately that, at some stage, he had been besotted with Rachel
Sheridan. All things considered, the countryside must be littered
with such gentlemen.