Chapter Sixteen

The Benbridge carriage rambled on at a sedate pace towards London, with the windows open to fight the oppressive summer heat that had followed the rains. Dru fanned at herself with the open book in her hand. For all that had occurred since she’d left London, it was perhaps the best use for sermons. Priss seemed to be unaffected by the temperature. She looked just as fresh as she had when they’d found her and fully recovered from her bout of tears.

Apparently, it had done her good to casually take the only thing of value from her older sister’s drab life. The image sprang fresh in her mind of Priss in the arms of John Hendricks. And with it came the heat of rage, and the desire to clout Priss repeatedly with the book in her hand. The girl was unlikely to gain any sense from the disaster she’d made of the trip. But if Dru could raise a drop of sympathy in her heart for the feelings of others, and maybe a small bump on that pretty blond head…

She fanned herself all the faster, trying to cool her blood. She should have been prepared for the inevitable, when it happened. Men invariably turned from her, once they had met her sister. But it had never hurt so much as this.

Of course, no other man had held her in his arms, nor whispered of her beauty and his uncontrollable desire, nor acted upon those feelings so enthusiastically before. While she understood that what had happened did not always mean marriage was forthcoming, was it too much to expect a day would pass before she was betrayed by both lover and sister?

If Priss had been willing to think of anything other than her own feelings, then Dru could have requested that, of all the men in the world, with just this one she might make an effort to be less than her completely charming self. And to try to act as though she was a little shamed by the trouble she’d caused, and not on a week-long holiday.

Of course, there was little wonder that Priss looked happy and rested. She had not been forced to drag herself through the mud, skip meals and sleep in the hay. When Dru had managed to part her from the contents of her reticule, she had found more than enough money to take them home properly and in comfort, stopping wherever they liked and sleeping in proper beds.

Dru’s eyes narrowed as she looked at her sister. It was just like Priss to create a disaster, yet suffer no discomfort from it. But she did not usually finish by reducing her older sister to broken-hearted tears in the public room of an inn.

‘Do stop harumpfing at me, Silly; it is quite a waste of your time,’ Priss said. ‘It is not as if I mean to learn my lesson from the experience. Better you should learn not to follow me.’

‘As if Papa would ever let me forget it, should I leave you get up to such foolishness,’ Dru bit back, annoyed at her own shrewishness.

‘Papa would not let you forget it, even if I had behaved,’ Priss said in disgust. ‘I swear, Silly, you think far too much of him, and what he approves or disapproves. His favour is hard to earn and seldom lasts.’

‘That is no way to speak of our father,’ Dru said, almost as a reflex.

‘But it is the truth,’ Priss said firmly. ‘Read that book in your hand and I am sure you will find something favourable on the subject of speaking the truth. Especially when it is plain before your face.’

‘It also demands that we honour our parents,’ Dru snapped.

‘And so we have,’ Priss replied. ‘For we have little choice in the matter but to do so.’ And then, wilting a little under her sister’s critical gaze, she amended, ‘And you do enough of that for the both of us, I think. And you get far too little of the credit for it.’

The compliment was surprisingly welcome. And though it did not make up for even half of what had occurred, Dru managed a weak but sincere, ‘Thank you.’

Priss sighed. ‘I have inherited Father’s temperament, I am afraid. Being just as headstrong as he is makes it difficult to obey without question. And you are too often forced to play peacemaker.’

‘Someone must,’ Dru said, wishing she could stay angry with a girl who so heartily deserved a scolding.

‘For the moment, you could try to enjoy your time away from that abominable house,’ Priss encouraged, in a way that seemed like sincere concern. ‘And I promise that I shall give you no trouble at all.’

Making trouble came as naturally to Priss as breathing did. There was no point in commenting on it.

And then her sister said, with a sly smile. ‘I suspect that you would have no real complaints about travelling with Mr Hendricks, if you would allow yourself to relax. He really is the most fascinating man.’ She was staring out the window, to where Mr Hendricks rode beside the coach. ‘Although, behind those ridiculous glasses, it is hard to see the colour of his eyes.’

‘Golden brown,’ said Dru, absently, looking down at her hands. ‘His eyes are amber.’ In the moonlight, one might even call them gold.

Her sister continued, as though she had not heard. ‘I wonder, can he see without them? For I expect he would be much more handsome, were he to forgo them.’

‘It would be quite foolish of him to do so,’ Dru snapped. ‘He is very sensible, not the sort of man at all who would sacrifice clear vision in the name of vanity.’ Surprised at her own outburst, Dru bit her lip to prevent herself from mentioning some of the occasions that had caused him to forgo the spectacles.

Priss smiled. ‘But I am sure that he is not unaware of the effect he has on women when he takes them off. There is not a man alive who is as proper as you make him sound, Silly.’

Dru pulled her skirts more tightly around her legs. Last night should have proved to her that he was as prone to sins of the flesh as the worst of his kind, and willing to take advantage of a helpless female, without regard to her reputation or modesty. And to make no mention at all of it the next day, but instead, to begin a systematic wooing of the female’s sister.

She could feel her knuckles going white as the nails cut little crescents in the palm of her hand. It was all the more foolish that she could not seem to manage the correct response to what had happened. She should have cried out last night, and to devil with the consequences. This morning, she should have been racked with guilt and shame and fearing for the safety of Priscilla while the villain stalked her under the guise of assisting them.

Instead? She felt…

Jealous. The sight of Priss in his arms had left her burning not with shame, but with anger. And not at him alone, but at her sister. It was Priss who had led them to this pass, and who now could not seem to understand the gravity of the situation for both their reputations, and the difficulties she faced in the future. After all the fuss over running off with Gervaise, she seemed not bothered in the least that the man was for ever gone from her life.

Instead, she had moved on to the next available man, using charms that had brought the males of the ton to their knees. Did she bother to think, even for a moment, that her quarry might have formed an attachment elsewhere? Or that someone might have formed an attachment to him?

Not that Dru had any real evidence that what had happened on the previous evening was any more than a biological reaction to stress. It was wishful thinking on her part that filled every corner of her head with fancies about John Hendricks on one knee before her, pleading for a chance to make things right. Or sweeping into her bedroom tonight, as he had on the previous one, overcome with desire and with no cares at all about right or wrong.

Instead, this morning she had found him, warm and soft with her sister, but stiff and formal to her, as though she no longer mattered to him, now that she had been bedded. It had given her the strangest feeling inside, cold and sharp and painful, as though she was full of broken glass. And so she had done what came naturally to her. She had focused her mind on them until the shards were on the outside, where they belonged. There, they would hurt others and not herself, and she would be protected, safe and untouched inside the barrier they created.

However, she was conscious of the emptiness at their absence and the way that John Hendricks had retreated to a safe distance. It was just as she had commanded him to do this morning. He was not bothering her, or her sister. He rode just outside the carriage, where she could catch only the occasional glimpse of him.

Now Priss was craning her head out the window, waving to catch his eye. She glanced back at her sister. ‘It is a shame that he does not ride with us, is it not? I asked him to. But he told me that he does not enjoy being closed up in the body of the carriage.’

That was little more than a polite and unconvincing lie. He had not seemed to mind it much as he’d ridden with her. ‘The way he was carrying on with you this morning, I think it is just as well that he remains outside, as I requested. It will save him from the stern lecture I would give, to remind him of his place. For the duration of this trip he will aid us in the task at hand. Just as Mr Gervaise was brought into the house to teach you to dance. Such men should know better than to get above themselves, and you should learn not to stoop.’

Perhaps if she could persuade Priss, she could learn the same thing herself. But after so long in his presence, just the sound of his voice as she scolded him would be a welcome thing. She missed the feel of his body close beside her, his leg pressed against her skirt and his arm at her waist to protect her.

Of course, the family carriage was exceptionally well sprung, and she hardly needed a sheltering body to guard her against the bumps and the jolts of the road. But luxury had never felt so empty and unwelcome.

Priss shook her from her reverie with a sharp tap upon the hand. ‘Really, Silly, you mustn’t brood so. One kiss is hardly a sign that I do not know a servant from a suitor.’

Nor, Dru supposed, did one night mean anything. No matter how much she might wish it did.

‘The scenery is quite beautiful, and yet you are glaring out the window as though it were a dark day in December. Can we not stop for a time and enjoy the countryside?’

‘It is only three miles to the next inn,’ Dru cautioned, pulling herself away from the window to stare at her sister. ‘If we are continually stopping, it will take ages to get home.’

‘But now that you have your way and I am returning to there, must we rush the trip? There is no one fashionable in London in the summer.’

‘Father is there,’ Dru said, firmly. ‘And that is where we will attend him.’

‘And I know you well enough to be sure that you have notified Papa of our return. You can tell him just as easily that we are delayed. It is nearly noon. I am stifling, and hungry as well. It would be delightful to have a picnic. Please tell the driver to stop and get down the hamper so that we might refresh ourselves.’

Dru sighed; now that her sister had the idea in her head, there would be no peace until she had her way. So she signalled the driver to stop at a wide spot in the road.

Mr Hendricks reined his horse and displayed no emotion save one barely raised eyebrow when he realised the purpose of the delay. He was likely eager to meet her father, receive his payment and be totally out of their lives.

The thought made her jaw clench; she ordered him sharply to lay out the blanket and help with the opening of the wine and the slicing of meat and bread. If he wished to act like a servant towards her, as though there was nothing more between them, so she would treat him.

Once he had seen to the comfort of her and her sister, he moved a respectful distance away, taking a small portion of the food for himself and leaning his back against a nearby tree.

‘This is much better, is it not?’ Priss insisted, then glanced at their companion. ‘Mr Hendricks, would you not be more comfortable sharing the blanket with us?’

‘I am quite fine here, my lady.’

‘Oh, but I insist.’ She patted the ground at her side.

‘Oh, yes, Mr Hendricks. Do come and join us.’ The sarcasm in her own voice was so thick that even Priss recognised it and stuck out her tongue in response, before sending another hopeful look in the direction of Mr Hendricks.

There was the barest hesitation before he pulled himself smoothly to his feet and joined them, dropping into the space between the two of them and allowing exactly the same distance so as not to show any partiality. Then he went back to the piece of bread he had been eating, as though nothing had changed.

‘There. That is much better, I think.’ Priscilla favoured him with another brilliant smile. ‘It is a lovely day, is it not?’

‘As you remarked earlier,’ he responded.

She considered for a moment. ‘When we were at the inn, the air was not quite so fresh. Here, we have the scent of the dog roses growing along the road.’

He noted the position of the flowers and nodded politely.

‘Are they not lovely as well?’ Priss coloured up in a way that looked almost sincere. Dru wondered how she could manage to control what should have been an autonomic response.

He turned his gaze on them again and answered. ‘Indeed, my lady, they are most pretty, if one likes such things.’

‘I doubt there is anyone in England that does not like a rose,’ Priss said with a definitive nod of her head.

‘But those are rather common flowers,’ Dru answered, in some annoyance. ‘And I expect they have thorns.’ The cloying scent of the things, combined with Priss’s annoying prattle, was giving her the most abominable pain in her head.

‘A wise man learns to look past the thorns, at the beauty,’ Mr Hendricks said, after a small pause. ‘There is much reward to be had if one is willing to get past the prickly bits.’

Dru looked down at her hands, worrying that, if she looked up at him, she would find him staring at her in a most improper manner. Or, worse yet, that she would see him staring at Priss, with no idea of how his last statement might have sounded to her. When she finally gained the nerve to check, he was staring at nothing in particular, eating the sandwich he had made of cold meat and cheese.

Dru’s eyes wandered to their surroundings, which were as annoyingly beautiful as Priss had said. Sunshine and roses—a lover at her side whom she dared not speak to, not even in anger, and a sister who was both chaperon and rival. Priss might find it pleasant and long to dawdle. But to Dru it felt unnatural, as though she were play-acting at being Priscilla. Everything was unbalanced. Someone had to keep their head, even when the roses were in bloom. And Lord knew there was not room in any family for two of them to behave like Priscilla.

‘If I might be so bold as to ask a question?’ John Hendricks’s voice was polite and proper, carrying the subtle undercurrent that had led her into trouble in the past.

Dru put up her guard, but Priss responded, ‘Oh, do. Ask anything at all, Mr Hendricks.’

‘Lady Drusilla has mentioned that you are out, Lady Priscilla.’

‘Indeed, sir. I expect I shall be married by the end of the year. Of course, I am quite without suitors at the moment.’

‘Really, Priss,’ Dru hissed. ‘You are barely clear of Gervaise.’

Hendricks ignored the tension, and went on. ‘But Lady Drusilla has said nothing of the results of her Season. And she is the older of the two of you, is she not?’

‘At twenty-three, I am hardly an ancient,’ she snapped, feeling as faded and rough as a dog rose in a hot house.

‘She is bitter about it, because she did not receive a Season.’ Priss put the truth bluntly, and yet there was sympathy in her voice. ‘Mama died and Papa and I were distraught. Dru was brought home from school to take charge of me. And after a year of mourning, we were both old enough for the marriage mart. But she put me in her place.’

‘At the expense of herself?’ Hendricks asked, as though she was not even there.

‘To have both of us out at the same time would only have divided the attention of the ton,’ Dru informed him, to remind him of her part in the decision.

‘Other families have managed to launch two marriageable daughters, even when they are not as wealthy as yours. Did you not wish for your chance to shine?’

It was an impertinent question, made all the more painful by the presence of her sister. ‘We cannot always have what we want, Mr Hendricks. If there are two daughters in the family, one must needs be married first.’

‘It is normally the elder daughter who experiences that honour.’

‘But not always,’ she said firmly. ‘Sometimes, one child is more vivacious, more popular, more sought after. And when it is known that this is likely to be the case…’ After four years, she could say it almost by rote.

‘You sound almost as if the decision was made before you were brought home.’

‘Priscilla was clearly the more eager of the two of us…’

‘Because Mother filled my ears with talk of dancing and parties, Dru. You were sent off to school, to learn reason.’ Priss looked directly at John, with none of her flirtatiousness and added, ‘There is little mystery why we turned out as we have, sir. One of us was discouraged from being sensible. And the other was required to be.’

‘Aptly put, Lady Priscilla. But you give yourself far less credit than you deserve. I suspect, in your own way, you are as astute as your sister.’

Now it felt as though the other two were passing messages between them that she was not privy to. Once again, she was on the outside, just as she had always been, looking hungrily at the green grass on the other side of the fence. But she was not hungry at all, really. She just wished that this horribly awkward conversation could be over. She nudged the food about on her plate and waited for Priss to declare herself ready to continue the journey.

Priss was still staring down the hill at the rosebush again. ‘It is a rare man that pays me the honour of calling me astute, Mr Hendricks. Probably because I would much rather be thought pretty. And now, I think I would very much like a flower,’ she said, scuffing the toe of her slipper in the dirt at the edge of the blanket. ‘But I could never get it for myself, for I should certainly prick my finger upon it.’

Mr Hendricks gave a little sigh of amusement and put aside his meal. ‘Then let me be of service.’ His voice was as bland as if he were performing any other task put to him by a member of the family that employed him.

But he no longer worked for them. What he did now was merely a courtesy. And it angered Dru to see him scraping and bowing, especially to her sister, who was trying to get a rise out of him, to see some kind of reaction that would prove his true feelings for her.

‘Oh, do leave off, Priss,’ she said, her patience nearing an end. ‘Let the poor man finish his meal, so that we might get back to our journey.’

But Hendricks was going for the flower, and Priss gave her a sharp nudge with her shoe. ‘Nonsense. He didn’t mind at all, did you, Mr Hendricks?’

‘Of course not, Lady Priscilla.’ And, as she had a hundred times when chaperoning her sister, she watched his manner for the eagerness or amusement, or a sign of hesitation that would make the flower a token of affection.

Mr Hendricks reached into his pocket for a penknife and cut through a stem, wrapping it carefully in his handkerchief to protect Priss’s fingers from the thorns and offering it to her.

‘It is so lovely. Thank you, Mr Hendricks.’ The smile practically blazed from her sister’s face in a way guaranteed to melt the reserve of even the most proper gentleman. Then she pulled a small mirror from her reticule and used the thorns to their best advantage to fix the blossom in her hair.

His name is John. Dru held the words in her heart, wanting to blurt it out to prove that, even for a moment, she’d had him all to herself. She felt her cheeks burning with something other than the coy charm that her little sister could manage. How did Priss make it all look so easy, wrapping a man around her finger just as she wrapped her curls around the rose? And leaving her, with a blank look on her face and straight dark hair that would not hold flowers, any more than she could hold the attention of a man.

She stood up too quickly, muttering something about needing a moment’s privacy, and turned to step behind a nearby bush, praying that they would think she needed to relieve herself of anything but a foul mood.

‘Dru.’ He had caught up to her in a step or two, saying her name so low that no one but she could hear. But there was no blandness about it. It was a low growl of command that touched her, making her head snap back to look at him. He had cut another blossom from the rosebush and was examining it carefully to make sure there were no cankers. He turned his back so that Priss would see nothing, skinned the thorns from the stem with his knife, and held the bloom to his own nose, as though admiring the scent, brushing it gently against his lips as he did so.

Then he presented it to her with a flourish, touching it lightly to her cheek as though he could transfer the kiss he had given the flower.

She gasped in surprise; when she took the flower from him she held it so tightly that she feared she might break its stem.

‘We must talk.’ His voice was rough and urgent.

And do so much more than that. For she was sure she could feel the touch of his lips still. And then she remembered the much more earthy kiss he had given Priscilla, just that morning, when her bed was hardly cold. ‘Go back to my sister. For I am sure that she is most eager to speak with you.’

He stifled an oath that was delivered so quietly that even she could hardly hear it, though she stood close by. ‘I come to pour my heart out to you, to offer apologies for my shameful behaviour. And I find you are jealous of your sister?’

Her cheeks were burning now. She gave her head a little shake, as though to deny the obvious.

He looked her in the eye, and his molten-gold eyes turned hard behind the lenses. ‘It is unworthy of you. And unnecessary.’ Then he spoke, even more quietly and more urgently, as though there were a great many things he wished to say, and no time or place to unburden himself. ‘What you saw this morning was no fault of m—’ As though he realised how it would sound to her, he stopped. ‘It was of no importance; I will see that it does not happen again. But whatever your feelings towards me, we need to talk, and there is too little time for it. The things that must be said cannot be blurted in the open where anyone might hear them. When we have stopped for the night, if you can get away unobserved, come to my room.’

‘I most certainly will not,’ she whispered furiously. ‘What must you think of me, that you believe I would even consider…?’

‘Please.’ He grabbed her hand, rose and all, and brought it up to touch his face, rubbing the back of it against his cheek, pressing his lips against it, breathing in as though her skin was some sort of rare perfume. ‘Please. I will not risk coming to you again. Someone might see. But you will know when it is safe to get away.’ He pushed her hand away and half-turned from her, as though he had been balancing precariously on the edge of a cliff, and had only just managed to step away. Then he looked up into her eyes. ‘You must be the one to decide if I can be trusted. After what happened last night, I am not fit or able to make that decision. But if there is anything left to say between us, then come to me. I will wait.’

‘Mr Hendricks?’ Her sister’s voice cut the thick air between them, and his head turned in the direction of the sound. Then he took a hurried step away from her, guilt plain on his face and searched the cover they stood behind for another exit. He went around the far side of a nearby tree, working his way through a small copse, to return to her as though to pretend that he had been nowhere near Dru.

She peered through the leaves of the hedge that hid her, to see Priss glancing over her shoulder in his direction, eyes alluring and the rose he had given her tucked into the curls at the side of her head.

‘Yes, my lady.’ He went to her. Attentive, obedient. Dru watched him closely. And nothing more than that. Though her sister tried with enthusiasm to evoke a stronger reaction, he stood politely to one side, well out of reach of her.

Dru’s heart beat fast in her chest, and she put her hand against it, wishing that it would calm and let her think. What did he mean by that? What did he mean by any of it? Had he seriously kissed the rose in her hand or was it merely a wish on her part? And to ask her to his room was every bit as improper as coming to hers. How was she even to find it, without asking someone and revealing what she was searching for? And would she have the nerve? If he came to her, they both knew that she could pretend she had no part in the meeting. But if she went to him? Then it sent a clear meaning that she had gone where she had gone willingly and with intent.

Stuff and nonsense, she told herself. She had shared lodgings with the man for almost a week and had no such qualms. She had even slept in his arms.

And that experience had not been the least bit innocent, no matter what she might pretend. She could not speak of it, should not even think of it. Going to his room tonight was out of the question. It would be better that every moment of the last week be forgotten. Not that she could ever forget—but perhaps she could try.

She shuddered, for she could still feel his hands on her, his body in hers and his breath on her skin. Without thinking, she wrapped her arms around herself, trying to capture the feeling and still the trembling. Then she stepped out from behind the bush and back towards the place where the footman was gathering up the remains of the picnic.

From across the clearing, Mr Hendricks’s head turned, as though he had sensed her response. His eyes were innocently blank. ‘Lady Drusilla?’

‘Nothing,’ she assured him. ‘A momentary chill.’

He nodded. ‘They come on sometimes, even in the heat of the day. Do you wish me to get your shawl?’ Ever the attentive servant, willing to see to her comfort and meet her every need.

The thought made her shudder even more. ‘No. Thank you, Mr Hendricks. I think once we are on the road again, I shall be fine.’

And hardly thinking, she turned to catch his attention and slipped the rose down the front of her dress, letting the petals crush against the skin of her breast and release their scent, turning everything about the day from innocent sunshine to something hot and lush and exciting.

And she smiled as the man before her watched, stumbled and caught himself again, taking a moment to remove his spectacles and wipe at them, as though eager to focus on anything but the place the rose had gone.