The Rise And Fall Of Reginald Everheart
Aside from the fact that his plans did not include a female, there was the very practical matter of their respective stations in life. Regardless of his family’s impressive wealth, his was a family of merchants and she was the offspring of a viscount. His father and two older brothers ran the small empire his grandfather had built. A union between a daughter of society and a man of ambition would be awkward at best. Michael was a man of principle but he was not blind. He was well aware that position and favor in the Explorers Club was based as much on social standing as abilities. He did not want any attention he might direct toward Dulcie to be construed as trying to curry favor with her father.
The door to the library opened and Preston Drummond strode into the room. Michael’s jaw clenched.
“Shepard.” Drummond nodded as he passed Michael on his way to Dulcie’s table.
Beyond everything else, Dulcie was apparently about to be married. To an idiot no less. Perhaps she was not as intelligent as he thought. Preston Drummond was universally considered an ass and a pretender. It was widely suspected that Drummond’s desire lay more toward the ultimate directorship of the organization rather than any exploration of his own. There was serious money currently in a pool as to whether or not he would ever actually venture beyond the safety of London for the deserts of Asia Minor or anywhere else for that matter. Drummond was one of those men who liked the idea of adventure, if only it wasn’t quite so inconvenient and dangerous. Unfortunately, his father too was a patron of the Explorers Club.
According to rumor, put out by Drummond no doubt, he was looked favorably upon by Viscount Middleworth and was about to ask for Dulcie’s hand in marriage. Drummond had no particular qualms about currying favor with her father. Michael was not one to put credence in unsubstantiated gossip, but on several occasions Drummond had appeared in the library to chat with her or escort her home, apparently at the request of her parents. Which did seem to indicate some sort of understanding between them. Although how any parents could allow a young woman to accompany a man without an appropriate chaperone was beyond him.
“Good day, Dulcie,” Drummond said with his usual smirk. “Might I say how lovely you’re looking today.”
“How very kind of you to say.” Even from across the room Dulcie’s smile seemed no more than polite. “I’m not quite finished yet, so if you don’t mind I would like to get back to it. Was there something you needed?”
Their conversation was low but, in the cavernous room where sound carried surprisingly well, impossible to ignore completely.
“I’ve been invited to join your family for dinner.” Drummond’s smirk widened with satisfaction. “Your mother suggested I stop here and offer you a ride to your house.”
Dulcie sat back in her chair, her smile a shade less polite than before. “Again?”
“She likes me,” Drummond said in an immodest manner.
And why not? A mother eager for a good match for a daughter somewhat past her prime marriageable years would no doubt see Drummond as a prize. The man was of good family and sound fortune. Even if he was a prig.
“Your offer is most gracious, and I do thank you, but as I said my work is not quite done. I would very much like to complete this before I leave for the day. Besides, my carriage is expected in an hour or so. Please be so good as to tell my mother I shall return home then.” She nodded and returned her attention to the paper in front of her.
“Don’t be absurd, Dulcie,” Drummond said firmly. “Surely that nonsense can wait until tomorrow.”
“Nonsense?” Her brow rose.
Michael almost felt sorry for the man. Certainly Dulcie’s employment was unusual, but female artists and illustrators were not unheard of, although it was his understanding that their work was typically more in the fields of botany and horticulture rather than ancient artifacts.
“Perhaps nonsense was the wrong word and this a conversation for another time,” Drummond said smoothly.
Michael stifled a disdainful snort.
“I should hate to arrive without you.” Drummond chuckled. “And your mother would be most annoyed.”
“Yes, I suppose she would.” Dulcie sighed.
“Besides, there is a matter I wish to discuss with you.”
“Oh?” She considered him for a moment then nodded. “Very well.” She stood and gathered her things, putting them on a shelf on the wall behind her. She turned and her gaze caught Michael’s. He immediately shifted his attention back to his notebook.
“Good Day, Mr. Shepard,” she murmured as she passed him on her way to the door. What might well have been a note of resignation sounded in her voice.
“Miss Middleworth.” Michael glanced at her and, without thinking, cast her an encouraging smile.
Her eyes widened in surprise. Admittedly, he rarely offered her anything more than a polite, disinterested sort of smile—part of his ongoing effort to avoid entanglement as well as the odd way his heart thudded when her smile lit her blue eyes. She returned a grateful smile and continued on, Drummond a scant step behind. She certainly didn’t look like a woman about to tie herself to a man for the rest of her life. Perhaps she was already aware of what an utter fool Drummond was. If not, someone should say something to her before she committed herself to the pretentious ass for the rest of her days.
Not that it mattered. Who she married or whether she married at all was none of Michael’s concern. Their fates were not even remotely connected. His was to seek knowledge and adventure in the unknown and follow in the footsteps of his uncle Henry. Hers was to marry well and be a credit to her family.
“Do you ride, Mr. Shepard?”
Michael jerked his attention to the unexpected female voice. “Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore.” He stood at once. “I beg your pardon. I didn’t realize you were here today.”
“I’ve been here for hours, Mr. Shepard. You were entirely too absorbed in your work to notice and I do try not to disturb anyone.” She smiled pleasantly. “I was just about to leave myself.”
“It is growing late,” he said cautiously. “Why did you want to know if I rode?”
“Oh, I was just curious.” She studied him for a moment. “You look like the kind of man who rides.”
“Do I?”
“Indeed.” She nodded. “I was just saying to Miss Middleworth what excellent physical exercise it is. Keeps a person fit and in top form, don’t you agree?”
“Yes, I suppose it does.”
“Did you know Miss Middleworth rides in the park every morning? I am thinking of joining her some morning but—” she sighed “—I find when one is past one’s prime, with every passing year simply mounting a horse becomes a more awkward endeavor.”
“Nonsense, Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore,” he said with a smile. “You don’t look anywhere near past your prime.”
“How terribly gallant of you to say, Mr. Shepard. You shall quite turn my head with such compliments.” The older lady dimpled. “Well, I shall leave you to your work. Good day.” She nodded, turned and swept from the room.
Michael retook his seat, the smile still on his face. Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore nearly always made a point of stopping for a word or two with him. She reminded him very much of his beloved aunt Grace. The older lady was quite kind, even if she struck him as a bit flighty, and she frequently mentioned Dulcie in passing. She also on occasion chatted about her husband, usually the latest news from his dispatches. Malcolm Fitzhew-Wellmore had a stellar reputation among members of the Explorers Club and frequently ventured into the unknown with the newly knighted Sir Charles Blodgett. Lady Blodgett was often in the library with Mrs. Fitzhew-Wellmore and Mrs. Higginbotham, the wife of a military officer. Michael had the impression the three were quite good friends. They certainly seemed to cope well without the presence of their husbands. In that, in Michael’s experience, they were exceptionally rare.
How would Dulcie fare in their place?
He ignored the question. He would soon head toward adventure and she would probably wed Drummond, who would no doubt put an end to her work. Rather a shame given her talent, but that was the way of things. She would no longer be present in the library, indeed, in his world. His heart twisted at the thought of not seeing her every day, bent over her work, her eyes narrowed in concentration. Not hearing her laugh. Not savoring the faintest hint of her scent in the air. Never knowing the feel of her lips on his, save in his dreams late in the night. Although he feared that might well continue.
In spite of the impracticality, pointlessness and sheer absurdity of it, it did appear Dulcie Middleworth had worked her way firmly into his affections.
And even the jungles of the Amazon might not be far enough away to banish her from his heart.
CHAPTER THREE
“I BELIEVE DULCIE MIDDLEWORTH has feelings for Mr. Shepard,” Mrs. Persephone Fitzhew-Wellmore—Poppy to her friends—said and played a card. She hadn’t particularly liked whist, or card games of any type really, when she and her dear friends Mrs.—now Lady—Guinevere Blodgett and Mrs. Ophelia Higginbotham had begun playing together some twenty years ago. Nor had she been very good at it. Now, she had moments where she was quite a wicked sort of player, much to Gwen and Effie’s mixed dismay and amusement. “And I am fairly certain Mr. Shepard shares those feelings.”
“I suppose that’s entirely possible.” Gwen studied her cards. “They’re together for hours every day in that library and quite frequently alone.”
“Oh, I don’t think anything untoward has gone on,” Poppy said quickly. “Not any sort of impropriety that is.”
“The parties involved usually don’t announce their improper activities.” Effie played a card. “People tend to be discreet when having a liaison in a library.”
“I doubt there’s anything even approaching a liaison. Why, they scarcely even talk. At least not to each other.” Poppy thought for a moment. “It’s extremely odd given they have been in that room nearly every day since he began frequenting the library some months ago but they do look at one another all the time.”
“Well, if they look at one another there must be something going on.” Gwen played her card with a flourish, grinned and took the trick. “Three more tricks and I win this hand.”
Poppy ignored her. “I know you think I’m being silly but I’m quite observant when it comes to this sort of thing.” She set her jaw firmly. “And I know what I’ve seen.”
“You did say they look at each other,” Effie murmured, her attention more on the cards Gwen was dealing than on Poppy’s comments, as if she could somehow influence them by mere force of thought alone.
“It’s not merely looking. That would indeed be silly.” Poppy drew her brows together. There was nothing more frustrating than trying to explain, even to her dearest friends, how something that had started as nothing more than a feeling had—through ardent observation and a very keen eye—become a conviction. “I first noticed when I would stop to chat with her and admire her work—she’s very good you know. I do think she could become quite successful. And there are a fair number of lady illustrators these days—”
“All painting overly sweet pictures of children or flowers,” Effie pointed out.
“There’s nothing wrong with children or flowers.” Gwen leveled Effie a chastising look. Effie did tend to be rather curt when she played cards. Gwen nodded at Poppy. “Do go on, dear. You were telling us about why you think Miss Middleworth has feelings for Mr. Shepard.”
“Although I daresay I wouldn’t blame her.” Effie chuckled. “Nor would I mind spending my days alone in a library with him.”
Gwen grinned. “He is quite dashing, isn’t he?”
“And entirely too young for any of us even if we weren’t already married.” Goodness, it could be difficult at times to keep her friends attending to the matter at hand. Poppy wasn’t the only one who tended to digress. She tried again. “As I was saying, quite often, when she and I are chatting about her work or art in general or any number of things, if I chance to look in his direction, I catch him gazing at her as if she were the moon and the stars.”
“I heard Miss Middleworth is soon to be engaged to Mr. Drummond,” Effie said absently, her attention back on her cards.
“Mr. Drummond probably thinks so judging by the manner in which he smirks at her.” Poppy paused. “But she has no intention of marrying him.”
“Wise of her,” Gwen murmured and set down a card.
“Dulcie is too busy gazing longingly at Mr. Shepard to give Mr. Drummond a second thought. Beyond that there’s, well, an odd sort of tension in the air when they’re together. Like the taut string on a violin that could snap at any moment.”
Effie looked up from her hand. “Goodness, Poppy, if they both have feelings for one another, what on earth is the problem?”
“The problem is neither of them have made their feelings known. Dulcie is a spirited young woman yet the thought of approaching Mr. Shepard seems to sap her courage.” Poppy shook her head. “And I suspect he thinks an entanglement would be difficult as he is soon to join a new expedition.”
“The one to the Amazon?” Gwen asked.
Poppy nodded and played a card, biting back a smile. Depending on the next card played, she might well win this hand. “I believe so.”
“I’m not sure I would encourage anything between them,” Effie muttered.
“Why not?”
“Oh, for goodness sakes.” Effie smacked down her card and glared at Poppy. “Would you really want any young woman to enter into the life we’ve had?”
Gwen stared. “I don’t see why not.”
Poppy quietly collected the trick and tried not to look smug. Three more tricks and Gwen would win? Not bloody likely.
“Because we have spent most of our married years with our husbands off risking their lives in the most dangerous places on earth in the name of military duty or scientific advancement. Why, we are worse than widows. We have husbands—they simply aren’t in evidence.” Effie huffed. “I, for one, am quite tired of it.”
It wasn’t the first time Effie had expressed dismay at the state of their existence. All three ladies were married to men of daring and adventure who were far more likely to be found in some remote area of the world than in London. Gwen’s husband, Sir Charles, was currently leading an expedition in the jungles of Africa. Poppy wasn’t entirely sure what the purpose of it was other than Sir Charles did hope to locate the missing Dr. Livingstone, although most people assumed he was dead as he had not been heard from for several years. Poppy’s dear Malcolm was somewhere in Turkey on a quest to find the lost city of Troy. Effie’s husband was a military man. Colonel William Higginbotham was even now part of a mission to rescue British citizens and government officials in Abyssinia. From what they’d read in the papers and the infrequent letters Effie received, it did seem that he was safe and all had gone well.
Poppy dealt the cards. It was pointless to argue with Effie when she was in this mood and one really couldn’t blame her if on occasion the state of their existence annoyed her. Of the three friends, Effie’s husband was usually the one in the most obvious danger—the lot of a military man of course. Still, one couldn’t discount the threat of malaria or other tropical diseases, accidental injury in some uncivilized and probably uncharted location, native uprising or any number of other possibilities that could claim the life of any explorer. Poppy would never disparage Effie’s fears for her husband aloud but Poppy did think of the three friends, Effie’s lot was a tiny bit better than Poppy or Gwen’s. At least if something happened to the Colonel, Effie would be informed of his demise. Sir Charles and Malcolm could bid their wives farewell one day and head off into the unknown never to be heard from again. Not knowing what fate had befallen the man you loved was surely a unique kind of hell on earth.
“We do have each other.” Gwen picked up her cards.
“Thank God.” Effie blew a frustrated breath then mustered a reluctant smile. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”
“There is much to be said for family.” Poppy nodded and played a card.
Effie and Gwen were indeed her family. While they were originally connected only by circumstance, they were now bound together as tightly as if by blood. They had met some twenty years ago at a meeting of the Ladies Committee of the Explorers Club and had found they had absolutely nothing in common save the lack of a husband within sight. Still—and not one of them today could say exactly how it had happened—from mere acquaintances they had become friends and now were as close as sisters. None of them had much in the way of family and none had been blessed with children. At this point, in their mid to late fifties, they had shared much of their lives together through good times and bad, tears and laughter. They counted on each other for companionship and comfort and support. And would until they day they breathed their last.
“Let me ask you this, Effie.” Gwen set her cards on the table and folded her hands on top of them. “When you met William, all those years ago, and someone older and wiser had warned against marrying him as you would probably spend much of your life with him off somewhere in the service of Her Majesty, would you have listened?”
Effie stared at her cards. “William has always looked exceptionally dashing in his uniform.”
“Excellent answer,” Poppy murmured.
Gwen ignored her. “Would you have given up the handsome officer on the advice of another wife of a military man?”
Effie frowned. “I don’t think that question is at all fair. I fell in love with William very nearly the first moment we met.” She paused. “I did, however, give due consideration to his life and the future we might have together.”
“And you married him anyway,” Gwen said pointedly.
“How could I do otherwise?” Effie shrugged. “The man laid claim to my heart.”
“And even now, after all these years spent more alone than with him, you would marry him again. As I would marry Charles, and Poppy would marry Malcolm.”
“Yes, I suppose I would.” Effie heaved a resigned sigh. “Blast it all, of course I would.”
“My point exactly,” Poppy said firmly. “Dulcie and Mr. Shepard were meant for each other. We just need to make them see what is so obvious to anyone who looks at them.”
Gwen narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean we?”
“I haven’t figured that out yet.” Poppy chose her words with care. “But I thought the three of us together might come up with something. We can be quite clever when we join forces.”
Effie groaned.
“Your claim that they belong together is based on nothing more than an odd lack of conversation, the fact that they occasionally gaze at each other, something in the air and your own assessment of the situation,” Gwen said in that mildly patronizing way she employed when she thought Poppy’s ideas absurd. “I really don’t think—”
“See for yourself.” Poppy’s gaze shifted from one friend to the other. “Come to the library tomorrow. If you don’t see what I see, then I shall drop this matter altogether.”
“Will Mrs. Lithgow be there?” Effie asked.
Mrs. Lithgow was the head of the Ladies Committee, on her third husband, superior, sanctimonious and one of those people who thinks she knows everything. While she was not universally loved, she did manage to accomplish quite a lot that no one else wanted to do, so she was tolerated. In moderation.
Poppy grimaced. “I do hope not.”
“And if we see what you see?” Caution sounded in Effie’s voice.
“When you see what I see—” Poppy beamed “—you will help me come up with a brilliant way to make the two of them accept their, well, fate.”
Effie and Gwen traded glances.
“Oh, that does sound like fun,” Effie said drily. “Not to mention a great deal of effort.”
“Goodness, Effie, you know as well as I—” Poppy played her card and collected the trick “—love is always worth the effort.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“DO TELL US more about your plans, Mr. Drummond,” Mother said, gazing at Preston as if he was the answer to her prayers. Which no doubt he was. “I’m certain we would all find them most fascinating.”
In truth, no one at the table except Mother seemed to find anything Preston said even remotely fascinating, even if her three older daughters—Cora, Rose and Livy—had adopted rapt expressions of interest. Although it did seem there was a fine line between rapt and glazed. Good. Dulcie would need all the support she could gather once she told Preston, and then Mother, she would prefer he not call on her again.
“Are you certain, Lady Middleworth?” Preston said in a mildly flirtatious, teasing manner. The sort of manner one might employ if trying to convince a woman you were the right man for her daughter. “I should hate to be a bore.”
Judging by the impassive expression Father usually adopted when he was bored and the total concentration on the food in front of them by her three brothers-in-law, that possibility was no longer in question.
“Don’t be absurd, Mr. Drummond.” Mother waved off his objection. “I can’t imagine anything more interesting than your plans for the future.” Mother shot a pointed look at Dulcie. “Don’t you agree, dear?”
Any number of answers flashed through Dulcie’s head, none of which even remotely approximated what her mother expected to hear. Nonetheless, Dulcie affixed her brightest smile. “I do indeed, Mother.”
Still, there must have been something in her tone. Mother’s eyes narrowed slightly, Father choked and Rose’s husband coughed, although it sounded suspiciously like a stifled laugh, earning him a stern look from his wife.
“As you wish then.” Preston smiled at her in a satisfied and rather possessive manner, as if he were already her husband. Regardless of what Mother or her sisters thought, even if it meant Dulcie would never wed, she had to put an end to this.
Dinner did seem to drag on endlessly but at last came to a merciful close. The ladies stood to take their leave and allow the gentlemen to their brandy.
“Dulcie.” Preston cleared his throat. “Might I have a word with you? Privately?”
Mother beamed. Father looked resigned.
His intentions were obvious. Damnation. Dulcie thought she had forestalled a proposal tonight by deflecting any hint of the subject during their ride home. Preston must have spoken to Father while she was changing for dinner. Well, it couldn’t be helped and it was probably for the best simply to get it over with.
“Of course, Preston.” She cast him a brilliant smile. “Shall we adjourn to the parlor?”
“Excellent.” He smiled with complete and utter confidence. One might almost feel sorry for him.
A few minutes later, Dulcie perched on the edge of the sofa in the main parlor, hands folded demurely in her lap, a pleasant smile on her lips although she suspected this was going to be anything but pleasant. Preston stood by the mantel, the very picture of unquestioned self-assurance. One would think a man about to propose marriage would be at least a little nervous.
“Dulcie, I—” Preston began.
“Preston.” She held out her hand to stop him. It wasn’t at all fair to let him go on. “I really would prefer—”
“I think we should marry,” Preston said in a firm tone.
She stared at him. “Is that a proposal?”
He frowned. “Yes, of course it is.”
“It sounded more like a declaration.” As if there were no need to actually ask. As if he simply assumed the answer. Preston was making this so much easier for her than she had expected.
“Yes, I suppose it does.” He chuckled. “Well, Dulcie, what do you say?”
“I say if you wish me to marry you, the proper thing to do would be to actually ask rather than assume.”
“Very well then.” He sighed in the manner one does when dealing with a petulant child. “Dulcie, would you do me the very great honor—”