The Sweet and Spicy Regency Collection (17 page)

And there was Mr. Tumblestone.

He was willing.

She would send a note around to her uncle. “Please don’t worry overmuch about me, Aunt. I am a sensible woman. Matters of the heart are problems for simpletons and fools. I am quite immune.”

“Very well.” Winnie did not sound convinced.

May would have to act before her well-meaning aunt could set a plan into motion. She would never own Radford’s heart. She didn’t need to, either. After tonight, her future would be set. There was truly no other viable option.

“I will be happy,” she said, not at all confident she spoke the truth. “I promise, Aunt, I will be happy.” Marriage to Mr. Tumblestone promised to be a great challenge to those bold assurances of happiness.

* * * *

“What about Miss Sheffers? Were you unable to find anything more about her background?”

“Besides the fact that her parents recently died abroad, no.” Bannor paused and looked as if he were carefully weighing his words. “The servants are tight lipped about her. The earl can’t abide to be near her, that much was made clear. My boy thinks there is something buried in her past. Something no one is brave enough to even whisper.”

Something like her father’s gypsy heritage
? Could it be true? If it were, his wild idea of marrying May just grew several degrees more impossible.

“Dig into her father’s background. Find out who he was, and who his parents were.”

“Yes, my lord.” Bannor gathered up his papers and started for the door. “Oh, my lord. Please do accept my fondest congratulations.”

“For what?”

“Your mother says you are to marry one of the Duke of Newbury’s daughters. You couldn’t pick a wife from a more respectable family.”

Chapter 14

Radford studied the two porcelain woodland sprites he’d set on the mantel, unable to decide which one to keep and which one to give to May.

One sprite had shamelessly pulled up her skirt and bared her leg as she danced, frozen in time by the hardened clay. A truly free soul. Her hair flowed about her shoulders and flowers wreathed her head. This was how he wished to see May. This was how a fairy-princess should appear. He lifted the tiny statue and turned it over in his hand. Even the dimples on the sprite’s round cheeks looked like May’s.

The second figurine appeared much more subdued by contrast. Her slender hands covered her mouth and she was turning away to cover a blush. The artist had been adept at capturing detail though. The dainty woman’s eyes were peering back, as if perversely drawn to whatever had made her shy away.

The artist could have used May as a model for this figurine. She hid from her joyous nature, only allowing precious glimpses to occasionally escape.

So which one did May deserve? The image of her shrinking away from society . . . away from love and life? Or the image of the free spirit she should no longer deny?

He could give her both.

Presenting her with even one, no matter how trivial, would be viewed inappropriate. He was a bachelor contemplating marriage to another. She was a maid rushing into a disaster he felt honor-bound to stop. The gift wouldn’t be well received. He wasn’t going to fool himself on that point.

What was wrong with giving her both figurines?

Selfishness, Radford supposed.

A strong desire to keep both for himself burned in him. He wanted the reckless elfin creature and the shy, frightened innocent fey princess. Both charmed him. And, he suspected, one couldn’t exist without the other.

Since he’d already decided to give her one, he forced himself to come to a decision. Just like the gypsy witch had suggested, May deserved her freedom. He picked up the wild, dancing woodland sprite and held it so it shined in the ray of sunlight streaming through a large window. She needed to be given the opportunity to dance and shine in full view.

Radford would give it to her and keep the memory of the other hidden away. To cherish . . .

And love.

He carefully wrapped the shy woodland figurine in a linen handkerchief and tucked it into his breast pocket so she could rest just above his heart.

He scooped up the other and jammed his beaver hat onto the crown of his head, with the intention of paying May a visit straight away. Whether she wanted to or not, he would make her accept his gift.

“There you are, Radford.” His mother sailed into the room. She wore another light gown that floated about her ankles as she crossed into the drawing room.

Lillian’s mother, the Duchess of Newbury, lagged a mere step behind. Good manners had Radford removing his hat and greeting the women politely. He dropped May’s figurine into his pocket.

“That lazy butler of yours should have brought the tea up by now. You really must have a word with him.” His mother shot a troubled glance in the duchess’ direction. “Bachelors are such helpless creatures. They really do need a strong-willed lady to take the servants well in hand.”

Never, not even in his wild youth, had Radford been careless with his servants. He was fair but stern, expecting they return as much effort and respect as he gave them. The accusation against Jeffers grated his nerves mainly because she’d criticized a butler worthy of praises.

“Mother, I will not—”

“You don’t have to do anything, my dear. We have the matter well in hand.”

“You do?” Radford picked up his hat again. He would worry about the women’s scheming later. Someone had to warn May of Mr. Tumblestone’s not so honorable reason for wanting to marry her.

It was his experience that young women in such dire conditions often acted in haste. Time was definitely of import.

“Very well. You can get along well without me then.”

“Radford!” his mother screeched. She latched onto his arm with an amazing strength. “You must be a part of this. We are planning your marriage.”

Of course they were. He gritted his teeth and tossed his hat onto a nearby chair. Why else would his mother and the duchess gather together and search him out? The new-bride shine in their eyes should have set off all sorts of warning chimes in his head. He’d seen the glow in the eyes of dozens of young besotted ladies and their beaming mothers before his injuries turned him into a creature to be pitied.

“Heaven forbid I miss such a momentous discussion. Remind me, Mother. Who, pray tell, have you decided to marry me to?”

“Radford,” his mother scolded while the duchess sucked in a deep breath and looked quite unabashedly shocked. “He’s joking, duchess. Not in good taste, mind you.”

Radford stood his ground. “Since I have yet to formally declare myself to any woman, you must understand my confusion.”

“I certainly do not understand you.” His mother shook a slender finger at him. “Your jest has gone too far. Apologize to the duchess at once.”

The duchess did appear on the verge of a fit of apoplexy. Her cheeks were turning beet red as she continued to gasp for air.

“Are you choking?” he asked, truly concerned. “Perhaps some water would help?”

“She is in need of an apology, Radford.”

“I apologize then. I am sorry to cause you such distress, your grace. Though, I certainly haven’t a clue why you should be so concerned over your youngest daughter’s prospects. She is young, beautiful, and possesses the refined qualities any gentleman would desire in a wife.”

“She is so young and impressionable,” the duchess managed to sputter between gasps.

“Are you certain you wouldn’t want me to fetch a glass of water?” Radford pressed, his concern growing. “You really must sit down.” He led her to the closest chair and helped lower her into the seat.

“She-she is in love with you, my lord,” the duchess whispered as she continued to struggle for a smooth breath. “I would hate for her innocent heart to be broken . . . shattered. She has such tender emotions.”

Lady Lillian with tender emotions? They must be well hidden
. Radford rubbed his chin. A sizzling dread landed in his chest. Could he have misread the silly girl? Could he have completely overlooked her hidden depths?

Possibly . . . probably . . .

He was a bounder. His interests had been too focused on the very unsuitable May Sheffers. What a wreck he’d caused. Both ladies were in danger of having their hearts bruised, thanks to him.

Radford leaned heavily on his cane as he plodded his way to the closest window. The sun shone brightly on the fields. He glimpsed his star horse, the lively Princess, frolicking with one of his younger geldings.

His future stretched out before him in that field. But with his old life gone, nothing but disappointment waited for him out there. He was trapped in a world where he could no longer enjoy the freedom only riding a horse could bring him.

What kind of husband would he make any woman? No one, not even the trying Lady Lillian, who was his perfect match, deserved to suffer so.

“Are you certain of her feelings toward me?” he asked the duchess. The thought that the young lady might be in love with him was met with a great deal of alarm. “She couldn’t possibly be in love. We have only just met.”

The duchess mournfully wagged her head from side to side. “She sees only bliss and happiness. She is young yet, Evers. Your attentiveness to her has completely won her regard. I pray your rejection will not inflict irreparable harm.”

“Rejection?” Lady Evers called. “What is this nonsense about rejection?”

“I just wish to slow down. I had hoped to woo the lady without—”

“Hush, boy,” his mother said sternly. “You have created enough havoc for today.”

Radford heaved a deep sigh and crossed his arms over his chest. There was no hope for it. He’d gotten himself in deep this time. Let the women make the marriage plans. Such matters failed to hold his interest anyhow.

He set the dancing figurine he intended to give to May back on the mantel and listened with only half an ear to the two mammas prattle on. His hopes for winning Miss Sheffers’ favor had suddenly degraded into something unfathomable. The wild idea of asking her to marry him could never come to pass. There were too many people involved with his marriage plans . . . too many fragile hearts to be considered.

But what was May to him? If she was not wife material and too honorable to be considered a mistress, he would just have to settle for friendship. As a friend he would warn her. He would do everything in his limited power to stop her marriage to that old money-hungry goat, Tumblestone.

Friendship would have to be enough for him.

* * * *

“Surely you’re not suggesting men and women cannot be friends? I’ll have you know that Miss Sheffers is a most uncommon woman with a mind surpassing a goodly number of men’s.”

Wynter had only laughed, claiming that Radford, a man, could never hope to be friends with May, a most sumptuous woman.

After enduring two hours with his mother and the duchess, Radford had been more than ready to escape his home and venture out in search of May. He may have agreed to visit the Duke of Newbury and officially declare his intentions that evening, but he had not agreed to forget his desire to help a friend in need.

Leave it to Wynter to burst into his home and keep him from his task while demanding an explanation at the same time. Wynter’s scowl had grown more fierce as Radford explained his situation. He made light of the confusing feelings he felt toward May and protected her reputation by not mentioning the money Mr. Tumblestone had been promised for taking her to wife.

“Miss Sheffers is an honest woman. I would be proud to be able to call her a friend,” Radford declared. He tried again to make it to the door, jamming his beaver hat low on his head. He’d wasted too much time in the house already.

Wynter moved swiftly to block his escape. “Are you being purposefully obtuse? Of course I believe there are instances where a man and a woman can develop a friendship akin to a man’s bond with his peers. All I am saying is that men don’t look at friends the way you look at her. You are besotted. You
love
Miss Sheffers and yet are on the verge of proposing marriage to a lady you can barely tolerate. As your closest friend, I have to ask: Have you lost your bloody mind?”

Chapter 15

May clasped her hands together to keep them from visibly trembling. What she planned to do went against every one of Mary Wollstonecraft’s feminist teachings. An independent woman would never give up her freedom this way. She would have fought a better battle.

If only Aunt Winnie’s health wasn’t a concern . . .

Too late to back down now. She had set her course, had already sent for Mr. Tumblestone. Portia had already hurried away to answer the door and let the caller in.

May held herself as still as a statue, desperately wanting to appear calm and in control. The burgundy silk gown, neatly pressed, hung nicely on her round frame. It was important to look her best, to present a pretty image to Mr. Tumblestone. He should be happy with her decision and pleased with her manner.

Happiness was too lofty a goal for herself, May conceded. But since marriage seemed unavoidable, she planned to do everything in her power to make the situation as painless as possible.

“We will get along well enough,” she muttered. Her heart raced and her mouth grew dry as she listened as a pair of heavy boots banged against the hardwood flooring.

“The Viscount Evers, miss,” Portia announced.

The viscount? Here?

The housekeeper appeared as surprised as May felt. Radford had no business coming to her home. Not now. Not when she expected Mr. Tumblestone’s arrival at any moment.

“I apologize for arriving unannounced.” He didn’t appear the least bit contrite. The viscount filled the room with his manly presence until May felt as if she had to struggle for a breath. His eyes met her skittish gaze. He smiled. It was a predatory expression that sent her heart pattering anew.

“I am expecting Mr. Tumblestone, my lord.” She had meant to sound frosty. Her breathlessness let a note of despair slip under her words.

“Indeed.” He raised an eyebrow. “In that case, it appears I have arrived just in time. That dress complements your figure. You look truly lovely, Miss Sheffers. I suppose the extra effort you have taken with your looks is for your elderly goat?”