Friends and Lovers (26 page)

"That will teach you to make fun of me,” he said. “Twenty-five years, eh? We have got a lot of catching up to do.”

“There is no hurry,” I said. My senses wanted a respite.

“I’ve got the whole day free. We can take our time.” He kissed me again, with enough ardor to frighten me half to death, and enough gentleness to guide me through the hazardous undertaking.

All good things must come to an end. I reluctantly detached myself from his arms. “Did I tell you I got a gardenia?” I asked, to draw his attention to another direction.

“You are branching out from weeds, are you? I hope this doesn’t mean you have been making up to that botanist from Reading during my absence.”

“I still have not met him. The gardenia died, and it was very pretty, too.”

He looked at the brown petals, sitting in the pot. “A berry is forming. See? The flower must wither, to make way for the fruit. More flowers will come if you take care of it.”

“I will. I am planning a more adventurous garden in the future.”

“Leave plenty of time to tend your Menrod cactus. We bloom too, if properly nurtured.”

He behaved more like a clinging ivy than a prickly cactus. “Where do you want to be married, here or in London?” he asked, drawing my arm around his waist. “We’ll have to be in the city next week for the hearing. We could introduce you then, take in the remainder of the Season, if you like.”

“What about the children?”

“I know you will want them with you. I have been at pains to trim Gwen into line and urge Ralph a little out of it. It was a sticky month, without you there to give me a hand. We had many a bout of tears, and threats she would run home to Auntie Harris, but I laid down some hard ground-rules, and she is shaping up. The job is by no means done, mind you. We must set our course, and sail it together. She is quick to find out our weaknesses.
I
won’t give in to her against your wishes, and vice versa. It is the only way to handle her. That Miss Enberg—not a clever woman. Hardly a woman at all, in fact, but only a young girl, which is perhaps how Gwen got so far out of line.”

“Our being at odds put her in a good position. She was quick to wiggle through any little wedge between us.”

“United we stand, as the Americans say. I personally don’t intend to allow an inch between you and me, at any time. I am not speaking only about Gwen and her tricks, either. She is so forward she’ll be married within a fortnight. She very nearly got an offer from Prinny last month. Truly, though, we won’t be saddled with her forever.”

“We’ll be losing Ralph long before that, when he goes off to school. The house will seem strange and empty without them.”

“Devil a bit of it. We’ll have half a dozen of our own by then. Everett is not the only one who appreciates your breeding potential. Which brings us back to my first question—when and where shall we be married?”

“I would like to have it done in my father’s old church, with Reverend Miles officiating. He would like to do it, and Mama will not want to go all the way to London. She dislikes travel.”

“I hope you don’t. There are so many things I want to show you—mountains and rivers and temples. It would be the deuce of a bother to have them hauled to Reading. I’ll drop by now and see Miles. If we skip the banns and use a license, we could be married before we have to go to London. Any objections?”

“It doesn’t leave me much time to prepare my bridal clothes...”

“Althea did it up in a week. If I know anything, her bridal clothes will be ten times as fine and as numerous as yours. Couldn’t you just buy a new shawl, or something, and leave the rest of it to get in London? Not that I am anxious for your company, you understand! But if you refuse, I shall drag you into Reading and have the smitty perform the nuptials, as he did for Lady and Tom.”

I sensed the eagerness, amounting almost to anxiety, beneath the frivolous words. “A pity the cure in Brighton did not take, Menrod. I know you went to cure yourself of liking me, but you know absence makes the heart grow fonder as often as it puts out of mind what is out of sight. Had you remained here, you would be tired of me by now.”

“I hope you don’t think that is why I went!” he exclaimed.

“Wasn’t it?”

“Certainly not! You told me you would not share a roof with Gwen, after her performance at the ball. I went to bring her to heel so we could begin our marriage with some semblance of peace and order. Bad enough to have to start off with Peter’s children, without having one of them driving us to distraction with her tantrums. I wanted to get her away from all her spoilers. I thought you understood that. I would have been more explicit, but you remember your mother chose that one morning I left to bear us company. Then Everett landed in just as we were about to have a moment alone at the door. Gwendolyn, is that really what you thought?” he asked, frowning.

“You did tell Mama the only reason Peter married my sister was because he found himself alone in the country, with no decent company.”

“What have Peter and Hettie to do with us? He was a green boy, had never been anywhere. I have been half way around the world, sampling, by sight! the ladies of all the countries. I know what I am doing, know what I want, and I want you. Is that why my flower has wilted?” he asked, drawing a finger along my cheek. He looked genuinely sorry.

“I would not have troubled you so for worlds. I thought you knew, as surely as
I
knew you had had the misfortune to fall in love with me, that I couldn’t live without you. If Peter had the temerity to say it to me, I guess I can use the overblown phrase too. I’ll make it up to you. What can I do?”

“I’ll have a lifetime to pay you back. It would be nice if Mama could be happy too. The box stairs...”

“I knew you wouldn’t make it easy for me! Even—to show the depths of my chagrin—I will allow the desecration of this gem of Elizabethan architecture. The box stairs will be renovated, temporarily, for the duration of your mother’s stay here. We’ll put the wall panels back on as soon as she is through with the cottage, however.”

“She kept the brass railings, and the panels with the gilded... Were the white panels and gilt roses not included?” I asked, as he looked unhappy. “I was very miserable while you were gone, knowing you were in Brighton with Mrs. Livingstone.”

“Here I have been blaming Hettie for Gwen’s tricks! She inherited them from you! Well, perhaps if you ask me very nicely.”

“She is a poor widow,” I pointed out, with an abject face. “If Papa were alive, he would let her have them.”

“All right. I know when I’m outclassed, but don’t think this sets the tone for our future. There will be no crimson stair-runner. I whipped Gwen into line, and if this continues, it is the Brighton cure for you, miss. Furthermore, that was not what I meant by asking nicely. I meant this,” he said, pulling me into his arms.

Joan Smith is a graduate of Queen's University in Kingston, Ontario, and the Ontario College of Education. She has taught French and English in high school and English in college. When she began writing, her interest in Jane Austen and Lord Byron led to her first choice of genre, the Regency, which she especially liked for its wit and humor.

She is the author of over a hundred books, including Regencies, many with a background of mystery, for Fawcett and Walker, contemporary mysteries for Berkley, historical mysteries for Fawcett and St. Martin's, romances for Silhouette, along with a few historicals and gothics. She has had books in the Doubleday Book Club and the Literary Guild, had one book condensed in a magazine, and has been on Walden's Bestseller list.

Her favorite travel destination is England, where she researches her books. Her hobbies are gardening, painting, sculpture and reading. She is married and has three children. A prolific writer, she is currently working on Regencies and various mysteries at her home in Georgetown, Ontario.

Copyright © 1982 by Jennie Gallant [Joan Smith]

Originally published by Fawcett Crest (ISBN 978-0449502808)

Electronically published in 2016 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.