Sharon Sobel (25 page)

“Precisely.” He nodded.

“I see. But why would Mr. Siddons’ friends want to injure Mrs. Gunn?”

Mr. Queensman made an exasperated gesture, perhaps entirely justified.

“You think they wished to hurt me?” Lark whispered. “But I have done nothing, that is, I mean …”

“Mrs. Gunn is a good sort of woman, my lady, but you must realize I would have had no real interest in the bathing scene unless I feared for your own safety.”

“But why would anyone want to hurt me?”

Ben Queensman hesitated, and Lark thought he was gathering his words very carefully.

“Perhaps they thought that by injuring you they would be momentarily disabling me and might then proceed with their scheme. I do not believe they intended to do you serious harm. But there are others, myself included, who stand too much in their way.”

Lark would have asked a million questions at once, starting with who were the villains, and what was their scheme, and why would they think Benedict Queensman would be standing in their way. But only one thing seemed to matter just then, and its answer was worth all the rest.

“Why would they believe my welfare would be of any consequence to you, sir?”

The bright eyes glinted. “Someone must have told them it was so.”

And by that one simple sentence Lark knew it was so.

“Of what can you two be speaking?” Raeborn’s thin voice interrupted them. “Are you making plans for the king’s entrance on the morrow?”

“I am sure, Benedict, that there is very little we need do to prepare.” Miss Hathawae came up beside him. Lark glanced towards the table, where the other two men were still engaged in their activity. “But we may come out to meet the king, and perhaps join the entourage. What say you, Mr. Queensman?”

“You are quite right, Miss Hathawae, for you understand the routine very well. The king’s carriage will be approaching on the eastern road, where the way is very narrow. He will pass through several small villages on the outskirts of Brighton, and we might as well give the townspeople a good show. I think we could safely join him about five miles down the road.”

“An excellent plan, my boy,” Raeborn said happily. “He knows I am to be here, and will be delighted at our early opportunity for a reunion.”

“I hope I might ride in your carriage, my lord,” said Miss Hathawae, “for I have none of my own here. I usually rely upon the kindness of friends.”

Raeborn patted her hand comfortingly. “Then I consider it a privilege to call myself the very oldest of friends.”

Miss Hathawae laughed girlishly. “Oh, dear, Benedict, you are not so very old as all that!”

“In truth, you make me feel like a man of thirty again.”

The genuine man of thirty caught Lark’s eye and shrugged in apparent disbelief at the most blatant flirtation going on right before them.

Lark smiled, sparing enough of her attention to be amused by the goings-on. But, in truth, something else nagged at her imagination and would not be dismissed.

Did no one else notice that Mr. Queensman—who had earlier agreed with Mr. Siddons that the king would be arriving by sea—was planning their reception of the royal entourage on the road leading to Brighton?

“Would an outing to see the king give you pleasure, my dear lady?” Lord Raeborn asked and put his face very close to Lark’s.

Ben knew his cousin was in the habit of assuming this stance because his hearing was faulty. But Lark, not knowing her fiancé nearly as well as a young lady ought, looked troubled by the intimacy and pulled away as much as her captive position could allow. She looked from side to side, but there remained no one to rescue her but himself.

“Yes, I suppose it would, my lord,” she said a little unsteadily.

“Of course. I do not need to be a physician myself to prescribe it as a remedy for what ails you, my dear. What do you say, Ben? Does our king bestow a healing blessing on all those who behold him?”

Raeborn, on turning to look at him, removed himself from Lark’s face. Over his cousin’s thin shoulder Ben saw the lady’s look of gratitude.

He smiled, absurdly pleased that he could give her even this little respite.

“I am sure our Princess Caroline would not have felt so blessed. In fact, in my professional opinion, I believe the sight of her husband made her positively ill.”

Raeborn grunted. “They were ever a poor match,” he admitted.

Lark clasped her hands together, and Ben noticed how she twisted her fingers nervously.

“I have no complaints against the king, but I am sure he possesses no healing powers, sir. One studies endlessly, and cares a good deal for one’s patients to claim such talents. Your cousin demonstrates this every day. In fact, Mr. Queensman proves himself so proficient, I can—”

“Of course, you are partly right, my lord,” Ben rushed in. He neither liked nor trusted the look on Lark’s face, whereby she gave all the appearance of a prisoner seizing a newly discovered avenue of escape. “If not the king’s society, then surely the outing itself will do some good. The sea air greatly restores Lady Larkspur’s spirit.”

“Excellent! My lady’s retirement to Brighton has proven wonderfully beneficial, then!”

Ben wished he could say the same.

“In fact, my lord, it has restored me so much I can—” Lark began, but Raeborn put a silencing finger upon her lips. Benedict envied him more in that moment than he had ever envied anyone before.

“Hush, my dear. As you yourself have just extolled the virtues of physicians, I am sure you would admit that the sole decision maker on the matter must be our only impartial judge,” Raeborn said with unintended irony as he glanced up at Ben. “What say you, Doctor? Is my lady well or not?”

Ben heard Lark suck in her breath, but dared not look at her lest he falter in his path.

“Well, Doctor?” Raeborn insisted. “You must have some opinion on the matter.”

“Indeed I do, my lord,” Ben said, feeling the rush of blood to his face. “Your lady remains an invalid, in poor health and unstable spirit.”

Lark gave a little cry, attracting the attention of those still busy at work on the dissected map. Miss Hathawae looked as if she would come forward, but Ben gently waved her off. If there was anyone who could reassure the lady, it was he himself. But not in this place, nor in the company of others.

“I protest, Mr. Queensman. I most heartily do. My health has made considerable improvement since the first sad days of my confinement here. Much of that is largely due to you, sir, and the benefits of this excellent society. Lord Raeborn already knows of my recent triumph in the waters. But neither he nor you knows of my first tentative steps on dry land. In fact, I should like to demonstrate …”

As she flung her blanket off her knees and gripped the sides of her wheeled chair, Ben comprehended in an instant what she intended. He knew not why she insisted upon revealing herself just now, or how much she hoped to prove, but he felt almost certain she did not guess what Raeborn intended.

He bent down and caught her by her tensed shoulders and pressed against her soft flesh. The temptation to circle her with his arms and bury his face in her sweet-smelling curls was almost unbearable, but reason immediately prevailed. He needed to set her back down in her chair and preserve his cousin’s illusions about the woman he hoped to marry under any circumstances. If in doing so, Raeborn would no longer have any illusions about himself, then it was a sacrifice Ben felt resolved upon making.

The lady’s indignation was patently clear. Her glorious shoulders, covered
by silk still bearing his imprint, shook with frustration, and she glared up at him as she once again shifted to the edge of her seat.

“I am quite fit, sir,” she said firmly.

“And, as your physician, I say you are not,” Ben said, yielding nothing.

The heavy silence between them was broken by Raeborn himself, who seemed to take great pleasure in the battle of their wills.

He laughed too heartily. “But it matters little, my dear, darling wife. You need not protest so.”

Lark turned so sharply that one of her curls whipped Ben’s cheek. Her mouth formed a small
O
, looking hungry for whatever offerings Raeborn would serve her.

Raeborn cleared his throat.

“I know you would come to me healthy and whole, my darling. But I am here to tell you it no longer matters.” He smiled a little tentatively. “Healthy or not, it is of no consequence to me. I will take you either way, and joyfully.”

Raeborn surely considered his words carefully, and with every expectation of receiving gratitude. But Lady Larkspur promptly closed her lips, refusing to sup, and closed her eyes as she settled back against her invalid’s cushions.

“
I
suppose you will be happy to know, after all these weeks, that you finally manage to look nearly as ill as you profess,” said Janet, though she scarcely looked away from her own image in the glass before making her judgment. “I daresay the sight of several rugged young men taking the waves this morning did not sufficiently restore your spirit?”

Lark untied the ribbons on her bonnet and threw the frivolous bit of finery on her bed.

“How could it?” she demanded. “Especially as I am now condemned to marry a man so old he insists he wants me for little more than a companion. What will I ever know of strong arms and sturdy bodies?”

“What do you know of such things already?” Janet asked.

Lark looked sharply at her friend, and thought she could fairly ask the same question herself. Though no man could compare to Ben Queensman, Matthew Warren was not a bad specimen.

“I have spent this whole night, tearful and awake, comprehending only too well how sterile and cold my life shall be. The man I shall marry wishes only an ornament for his home, a doll he may display as a treasure in his cabinet. I mean nothing more to him than any possession, and even less than his own pride. And there is no one who will save me from such a fate.”

Janet finally turned away from her own reflection. “What would you have me do?” she asked gently.

Lark moved restlessly to the dressing table. “You have done more than any friend, endured my rants and inconsistencies and only sought to help. You shall be my only comfort when we return to London.”

Janet’s face changed so suddenly, Lark comprehended her mistake at once.

“You will not return to London?”

Janet’s mouth twisted with her indecision of expression. “I did not wish to tell you, for fear it would make you most unhappy, dear Lark. But when I return to London it will only be to select my wedding clothes. Matthew Warren has asked me to marry him, and even now prepares to meet my father. To think such circumstances have produced such a happy result! I only wish you could know such joy!”

Lark willfully lifted the great burden that had settled upon her heart and smiled tearfully at her dearest friend.

“But I do! I do!” she cried, hugging her. “To have you so happy is to give me the greatest pleasure! Mr. Warren is an excellent man, a gentleman truly worthy of you. I cannot imagine you with another.”

“Can you not? I once recall you saying you would not have either of us settle for anything less than a baronetcy. And now I shall be a doctor’s wife.”

“Perhaps I have matured in my sensibilities. I believe I do not consider marrying a physician or a barrister or a banker any worse than, say, marrying a man who swims naked in the sea. At least you know precisely what you are about to get.”

“Lark!” Janet blushed mightily, but Lark easily saw through her maidenly modesty. Their stay in Brighton had educated them about a good many things, not all of which would meet the approval of their parents.

“I am being absolutely truthful, Janet—which is an experience quite rare for me in recent weeks. So when I say I am delighted for your great happiness and wish you every wonderful thing, believe it is quite from the heart.” She paused and then added, with a trace of wistfulness, “When do you marry?”

Janet turned back towards the mirror, but not before Lark could decipher the look of discomfort on her friend’s features.

“Janet? Whatever is the matter?”

“I long to marry Matthew and settle in this lovely place with some degree of permanence. I truly do. But I will not be agreeable to such a plan until I have fulfilled my promise to you, dear friend. I will not leave you alone. I wonder, now that you seem to have Mr. Queensman as an ally, would
you feel comfortable if Delphinium or Columbine joined you here? Rose and Lily are far too silly and would drive you quite mad.”

“And yet they found husbands with very little difficulty,” Lark said ruefully. “But you are right about the effect they would have on my sanity. Rose and Lily are increasing, you know, and Columbine would not be happy without Edward. And Del—but it is no matter.” Lark shook her head.

“Why on earth not?”

“I shall be leaving this place soon enough, and not altogether to my regret. Raeborn will have me either way, so it appears I have done nothing by my masquerade but buy myself a little time. But even that is now sand through the glass, and I have not even managed to meet the great Mr. Knighton.”

Janet laughed. “I suspect he does not exist.”

“Oh, he does. I have it on Miss Hathawae’s authority. But whether we meet him or not, he surely is more real than any of my hopes or dreams.”

“What are they, dear Lark?”

Lark looked closely at her oldest friend and saw the radiant skin and bright eyes of a woman in love. She also recognized loyalty and contentment and the calm satisfaction of someone who knows she is to have everything she ever desired.

“I believe you have the answer to that already. The sea air of Brighton has changed us both, making us so much more than the insipid misses we were upon our arrival. Your own story will end happily, triumphantly. Mine will not be anywhere as gratifying, ending just where it began. I may have grown and gotten wiser, but it is to no avail. I will still marry Lord Raeborn.”

“When you would rather marry another.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Of course,” Lark admitted and looked at her friend. “But where I once thought him the very last man I would marry, I now believe him the very last man I
could
marry.”