Mischief by Moonlight (19 page)

***

Colin was clenching his teeth so hard he was probably in danger of cracking them. Josie had accused him of scorning unruly emotion, but
unruly
pretty much described how he was feeling right now.

She held his eyes with hers, willing him, he knew, to decline.

“Thank you, Matthew. Tell your mother I would love a cup of tea.”

He stood and held out a hand to help Josie up from her kneeling position. She ignored it and got up on her own. She insisted on walking a few steps behind him as they made for the manor and tea.

The whole time he sat across from her, he wanted to leap across the table and sweep her off somewhere so he could explain things better. And then ravish her thoroughly. Instead he watched as she volunteered to get extra cream for the table, fetch more biscuits, and adjust the drapes, and in general eagerly did everything she could to spend as little time in his company as possible.

By the time he returned home to Greenbrier an hour later, he was extremely grouchy and frustrated. He buried himself in his books, but they provided no solace from thoughts of Josie.

How could she be so contrary? She wasn't even going to consider his offer of marriage?

Eventually he threw down his quill and went out to the stables. He took his horse out for a punishing ride meant to disperse all the bloody
feelings
that had overtaken him. Two hours later, he was physically spent, but he'd accomplished nothing toward mastering his emotions, which only made him furious. Was he to be like his parents after all?

He made for his library and buried himself in his books.

At dinnertime, deeply annoyed with his lack of focus, he had a plate of sandwiches sent in and disciplined himself into concentrating on the words. But no subject shared the pages of history with honor and death so frequently as love, and when he found himself starting to have some sympathy for the intemperate Henry the Eighth, he slammed the volume before him shut with disgust.

It was no good. His lifetime of reading had given him a thorough exposure to the human animal in all its glory and heartbreak, and he could no longer avoid the diagnosis of his own state: he was in love with Josie Cardworthy.

And she showed no signs of loving him back.

If anything, she'd been nothing but irritated with him the entire time he'd seen her today, and she'd clearly wished him gone. She definitely wasn't treasuring any blissful memories of their time in the carriage.

He wasn't happy with the vulnerable way love was making him feel. But at least there was a saving grace in all this: she didn't know how he felt. And she wouldn't—not yet, anyway.

He'd convince her to marry him
somehow
. She'd had friendship for him, and desire. He could easily remember the passion they'd shared in the carriage, and he refused to believe that had been based on nothing or that it had all simply gone away. She wouldn't acknowledge her affection for him, but now that he'd admitted to himself that he loved her, he felt very inspired to court her.

She had to care for him at least a little, and as soon as he could get her to care for him as much as he cared for her, he'd let her know how he felt.

Hardly had Josie dispatched a cheering letter to Edwina when, a few days later, instead of a reply, her sister herself arrived at Jasmine House, conveyed there in Maria's carriage and accompanied by one of Maria's maids.

Josie thought Edwina looked thinner, and her sister's greeting was strangely meek. But of course, travel was wearing, and after the family welcomed her home, no one thought anything was amiss when she promptly took to her bedchamber.

Since Josie hadn't told her brothers about Mappleton, none of them were curious on that score. And with Mrs. Cardworthy on her divan as usual with her novels, and the boys occupied with some scheme in the back garden, the family didn't pay much notice to Edwina's withdrawal. But by the afternoon of the second day, Josie was beginning to worry.

“Edwina?” she called from the hallway after knocking on her bedchamber door. She chose to take the muffled sound from within as permission to enter.

Edwina was sitting on her bed with an open book of theorems in her lap. Josie knew her sister found the way complicated mathematical problems could be neatly solved satisfying, but it didn't seem as though the book was holding her attention.

“Are you unwell?” Josie asked, coming to sit at the foot of the bed. “You've not left your chamber since you arrived.”

“Oh,” Edwina said quietly. “No, I am quite well.”

Her normally lustrous black hair lay loose and lank over her shoulders, and there were shadows under her midnight-blue eyes. She was wearing a very old, quite ugly brown gown, the sort of thing she might normally have worn only to help in the garden or sort items in the dusty attic.

Had something happened in London? Had there been any more contact with Whitby? Josie meant to tread carefully.

“I was hoping to hear more about London.”

“There's not much to tell.” Edwina looked down at her book and turned a page.

Silence. Obviously something was wrong, and Josie felt the gulf of distance between them. They were such different people. She thought of how everything about a sister could be as familiar to you as yourself, and yet the two of you might not really know each other at all.

“You seem rather low,” she said carefully. “Did something happen in London? What about Mappleton?”

“He proposed.”

What?

“Then why aren't we celebrating?”

“Because I turned him down.”

“Turned him down? But it was such a triumph for you to catch him!”

“I didn't love him. I don't think I even liked him in the end. He only wanted to admire me.” Edwina looked up. “And I know what you're thinking. He sounds like just the man I wanted, doesn't he? But I began to feel I couldn't respect someone who was so entirely enraptured by me.”

She seemed so different now.

“Then it sounds as though you've made a good decision.” Josie moved her hand to rest on top of her sister's and gave a gentle squeeze. “This doesn't have something to do with Jack Whitby by chance?”

A stain of pink crept over Edwina's cheeks. “How could it?” she said, though her voice no longer sounded defensive when speaking of him, but resigned. “He's a cabinetmaker, in trade.”

“But you have feelings for him, don't you?”

“Yes,” Edwina whispered miserably. “I do. He is a remarkable, honorable man, an artist and educated, and he's worth ten of most gentlemen.”

“And does he truly care for you?”

“I think he did at one time, only I've been so awful to him. It was my fault he was sent away from Maria's in disgrace. I was the one who kissed
him
, even though he tried to discourage me. But I was afraid to care for him, so I behaved as though he wasn't good enough for me, and I've been so wrong. He's far better than I am in every way that matters.”

“That's not true. Maybe it was only a matter of him seeing your worth before you saw his.”

Edwina shook her head. “It doesn't matter. It was always impossible.”

“I suppose so, if you care very much what other people think. Though I'm not sure our family ever has, and maybe now, for once, that could be an advantage.”

Edwina managed a pathetic laugh. “You're right. We don't really have much to lose in the way of neighborhood standing.”

She looked down again. “But I've burnt my bridges with him. And”—she took a deep breath—“you were right about Mappleton as a husband for me, but I couldn't listen because it was you. I was envying you so awfully for being engaged to Nicholas. I've always envied you.”

“You had no need to,” Josie said gently. “You've always been a wonderful person—you just couldn't trust that people would like you for yourself. I think Papa helped you to believe that, and it was very wrong of him. I'm sorry.”

“It wasn't your fault.”

“But I feel awfully as though I benefitted from you having to go first and take the brunt of Papa's bullying ways. You made it easier for me not to care if he blustered at me.”

Edwina's eyes looked misty at the corners. “Then I suppose a little something good came out of Papa being disappointed in me.”

“Oh Edwina, dearest,” Josie said, “you are the best of sisters.”

“Sisters
are
a wonderful thing,” Edwina sniffed. “I feel a little better already.”

They embraced and had a good cry together on Edwina's bed. Then Josie took a deep breath and told her about Colin.

“When I went for the carriage ride with him in London after we had the news about Nicholas…well, we rather sought comfort from each other in a physical way.”

“Josie Cardworthy!” Edwina said, but there was no hint of judgment in her voice, only a sort of indulgent surprise that made Josie feel a little better about what had happened.

Edwina lowered her voice. “Was it
a
lot
of comfort?”

“Yes. But fortunately, there will be no consequences.”

Edwina absorbed the full implication of Josie's words. “Well. I'm sure it was only natural to seek comfort at such a time, the two of you being such good friends. Are you in love?”

“No!” Josie said with a vehemence that made Edwina's eyebrows rise. “What happened was a mistake, but he felt that he'd compromised me, and he insisted we must marry.”

“Ah. Insisting. Still,” Edwina said, giving Josie an intent look, “you two might come to love each other.”

“No,” Josie said firmly, “it's not going to happen.” She could see a look of lingering suspicion in her sister's eyes, and she said in the most cheerful tone she could manage, “Truly, it's all resolved and done with. And at least you and I will always have each other.”

“Yes. And what a consolation,” Edwina said drily, “that neither of us will be left as Mama's spinster caretaker. We can share the job.”

“True,” said Josie with a grim laugh.

Edwina smiled, and it made such a difference to the pale, drained look of her.

“We'll be the tragic lost beauties of Jasmine House,” Josie said.

“Why are we lost?”

“Lost to gentlemen because we never found our true loves. And now we sail into the future undaunted.”

Edwina flopped backward on the bed and threw an arm across her face. “You always were good at dressing mutton up as lamb.”

“Listen, though,” Josie said, flopping down beside her. “Since we are both going to be here, I think we ought to do something about Mama.”

“What do you mean?” Edwina said from under her arm.

“Get her up off the divan, of course. And outside.”

“Outside!” Edwina let her arm fall away from her face and turned her head to give Josie a deeply skeptical look. “Don't you think she'll go up in smoke or something if direct sunlight hits her?”

Josie laughed. “You know it's the very thing she needs. And it would make a huge difference for us as well.”

Edwina seemed to entertain the idea for several moments. Then she shook her head. “I agree that she needs to get up, but it will never happen. Mama's been on that divan for four years. Four years! That argues to an incredibly stout mulishness. I don't even think she can walk much farther than the distance to and from her bed anymore.”

“All the more reason to get her up and out,” Josie said seriously. “It's the only thing, really. It will be our project.”

Edwina put her arm comfortably back across her eyes. “It will be a failure. But clearly we lost Cardworthy beauties haven't got anything else to aim for.”

***

Mrs. Cardworthy, predictably, refused her daughters' invitation the next day to drive out to a nearby town for a glass of lemonade.

“Lemonade!” she cried, a novel dangling from her fingers and a sweet
kachori
biscuit halfway to her mouth. “What can you be thinking, to go all that way for a glass of lemonade? Have Cook make you some if you are in such need.”

“It's not out of need, Mama,” Josie said reasonably. She and Edwina had prepared themselves for resistance and were determined to be patient and persistent. “It's a pretty little inn and there's a beautiful view of a garden.”

“We have our own lovely garden,” Mrs. Cardworthy replied, “and one we've spent quite a bit of money having Rickett maintain. I see no need to go gallivanting about to look at anyone else's garden: flowers are flowers.”

Edwina shot Josie a look over their mother's head that said
I
told
you
so
, but she nonetheless put on a cheery expression and said, “Do let's go, Mama. You know how beneficial fresh air is.”

“The windows are open, I can see our garden, and I have all the fresh air I need.” Mrs. Cardworthy patted her daughters' hands amicably. “Really, my dears, I have everything I need right here. My children are all present in our happy home. We're all healthy. I have my books. What else is there?”

“Rather a lot else, Mama. The world outside our house, for one thing,” Josie said, forcing herself not to sound exasperated. But her mother was already frowning.

“I see what this is now. You want to push me out of the house. I'm a burden to you, an embarrassment, and you want to force me to do what I cannot.”

Her voice swelled with hurt. “You don't care that I'm not fit for such undertakings. I've had a terrible shock, and
patience
is needed for a full recovery.”

“Mama,” Edwina said in a wonderfully kind voice, “aren't there things you're secretly yearning to do?”

Mrs. Cardworthy recoiled as though she'd been slapped instead of encouraged to seize the reins of her life. Her chin began to quiver.

“Sal-ly!” Mrs. Cardworthy called out before dropping her head back against the blue divan pillows, which were threadbare with overuse. Josie and Edwina exchanged glances.

Sally appeared and their mother directed her to bring her elixir. “I am quite ill,” she said in a quavering voice.

Edwina and Josie moved to the doorway while the maid brought the elixir.

Edwina raised her eyebrows meaningfully.

“This just means we have to be creative,” Josie whispered.

Over the next days, Edwina and Josie proposed a special luncheon in the garden (too many bugs, Mama countered), a carriage ride to see the church being built in the next village (it hadn't rained for a while, Mama pointed out, and the roads would be dusty), and a visit to the traveling pantomime show (a coarse diversion far inferior to books, their mother parried triumphantly).

Josie and Edwina explained their plan to their brothers, who were in favor of it, and enlisted the boys' help in trying to entice their mother to get up. Thus another round of encouraging suggestions was begun, with the hope of eventually wearing Mrs. Cardworthy down. Their mother, for her part, seemed to enjoy the attention.

But their efforts had no effect, and even Josie began to feel a little discouraged. As she and Edwina stood aside for Sally to plump their mother's pillows two days later, Josie took up the bottle of Dr. Framer's Strengthening Elixir Sally had left on the table. The elixir had become such a part of their mother's routine that nobody thought anything of it anymore, and now she took a hearty sniff. It fairly made her eyes water.

Josie held the bottle out to Edwina with a grim look.

Edwina blinked at the fumes. “Heavens,” she whispered, “this must be almost nothing but brandy.”

Sally approached the door to leave, and the sisters stepped out into the corridor with her.

“Sally, how much of this elixir is Mama drinking?”

“Well, miss, she has a tot or two first thing in the morning, then after lunch, just before dinner, and before bed.”

Edwina and Josie exchanged a look.

“Perhaps we should encourage her to cut back,” Josie said.

Sally looked horrified. “Oh no, miss, she wouldn't like that. It relaxes her, like. And she'd never sleep without it.”

They dismissed the maid and moved along the corridor. “Our mother is a drunkard!” Edwina said in a scandalized whisper. “How could we never have noticed?”

“Because she never has too much at one time, I suppose. But I can only think it's helping keep her on the divan.”

Edwina nodded. “Existing in a sort of mellow stupor. Sally's right, though. She won't want to give it up.”

“Agreed. So we'll have to get rid of it for her. Let's go find all the bottles. And we'll tell the servants not to buy any more.”

Edwina looked uneasy. “But she'll be furious. There'll be no living with her.”

“Well,” Josie said, “if she's angry enough, she'll have to get up and go look for the elixir herself, won't she?”

“You really are diabolical.”