How To Rescue A Rake (Book Club Belles Society 3) by Jayne Fresina Page A
Authors: Jayne Fresina
Tags: Fiction, Romance, Historical, Adult, Travel, Regency, England, 19th century, Novel, Bachelor, Victorian, Britain, reading, bride, escape, Rejection, Book Club, rescue, heartbreak, Forever Love, Single Woman, Charade, London Society, Belles Society, Five Young Ladies, Meetings, Comments, Discussion Group, Hawcombe Prior, Reckless Rake, Marriage Proposal, Three Years, Propose, New Wealth, Rumor Mill, Age Of 25, Suitable Girl, Cousin In Bath, Avoiding, Heart On The Line, Follow
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that last time, Diana had taken a moment to prepare herself before she went out to give her mama the news. She must not be smiling with relief. Think of something tragic instead , she had chided herself crossly.
Not that the effort saved her from chastisement.
“I blame this entirely on those silly novels you read and the rash marriages your friends have lately made!” her mother cried. “That has influenced you to make a terrible misjudgment. Well, I don’t know who you think I can get for you now. We’ve wasted years on this engagement. Your prime is gone. I don’t know why you’re putting that bread crust out for the birds. We can’t afford to feed them now too!”
* * *
Breaking through these memories, a breeze kicked up and rustled the music sheets atop the old pianoforte. She picked up the papers and tidied them.
Her fingers hovered over a tattered edition of Campbell’s Country Dances and Jigs . Usually kept hidden behind the other music, it contained a tune to which she and that reckless, flirtatious, entirely unsuitable gambler Captain Nathaniel Sherringham had once danced. She never played it now, but Diana could run her gaze across the notes on the paper and hear it in her mind, where it could not be spoiled by one of her mother’s scornful comments about how clumsily that young man had danced.
Listening to the music in her head was one of Diana’s naughty little secrets. She didn’t have many. But for her, the sweet notes of music were a treasured escape from chores. Rain now dampened the music sheets, so she closed the parlor window and twisted the latch shut.
If Nathaniel returned to Hawcombe Prior, she would undoubtedly see him again, even be thrust into the same society on occasion. But she would be calm, ladylike. She’d greet him as an old acquaintance, as she should have done yesterday evening if she had not been flustered and embarrassed about her pimple and so many other indescribable, inexplicable things.
So determined, she hastily drew the curtains closed.
* * *
Nathaniel flung open his bedchamber curtains and opened the window. Restless and hot, he couldn’t sleep. Pacing in only his buckskins, he welcomed the cooling, gentle raindrops as they blew in. With his father’s merry encouragement he’d imbibed a little too much brandy after dinner, and that wouldn’t do at all. He refused to fall into old habits. Coming back to Hawcombe Prior was bound to reopen some wounds, but really he should be strong enough to bear it without needing alcohol to dull the pain. He would not make childish excuses for his bad behavior. He was an adult, a man—no longer a boy shirking his responsibilities.
He smiled wryly. Took him long enough to get there, didn’t it?
Caroline Sayles must wonder what had happened to him, for he’d expected to be back in Manderson by nightfall, instead of spending the night at his father’s house. He would send her a message in the morning and warn her that their journey to Bath must be delayed a few days. He couldn’t very well approach the tavern keeper about business while the man was in deep mourning. Keeping Caroline away a few more days might also do her aunt a favor, he mused grimly. That unfortunate lady had so recently lost a daughter and probably had no idea she was about to be descended upon by a niece with more imaginary illnesses than a child hoping to escape an algebra lesson.
Besides, necessary delay gave him an excuse to linger a few days more in Hawcombe Prior.
It was quiet there, peaceful, comfortable. He’d lived in many places in his thirty years and never stayed anywhere long, but somehow that village felt like home. His father had retired there almost ten years ago, purchasing some land and property and then settling in to enjoy his last years in comfort. Sadly, it had not turned out quite as the major hoped. Thanks to an overgenerous temperament and a kind heart easily tapped by the unscrupulous, he could never bring himself to
Not that the effort saved her from chastisement.
“I blame this entirely on those silly novels you read and the rash marriages your friends have lately made!” her mother cried. “That has influenced you to make a terrible misjudgment. Well, I don’t know who you think I can get for you now. We’ve wasted years on this engagement. Your prime is gone. I don’t know why you’re putting that bread crust out for the birds. We can’t afford to feed them now too!”
* * *
Breaking through these memories, a breeze kicked up and rustled the music sheets atop the old pianoforte. She picked up the papers and tidied them.
Her fingers hovered over a tattered edition of Campbell’s Country Dances and Jigs . Usually kept hidden behind the other music, it contained a tune to which she and that reckless, flirtatious, entirely unsuitable gambler Captain Nathaniel Sherringham had once danced. She never played it now, but Diana could run her gaze across the notes on the paper and hear it in her mind, where it could not be spoiled by one of her mother’s scornful comments about how clumsily that young man had danced.
Listening to the music in her head was one of Diana’s naughty little secrets. She didn’t have many. But for her, the sweet notes of music were a treasured escape from chores. Rain now dampened the music sheets, so she closed the parlor window and twisted the latch shut.
If Nathaniel returned to Hawcombe Prior, she would undoubtedly see him again, even be thrust into the same society on occasion. But she would be calm, ladylike. She’d greet him as an old acquaintance, as she should have done yesterday evening if she had not been flustered and embarrassed about her pimple and so many other indescribable, inexplicable things.
So determined, she hastily drew the curtains closed.
* * *
Nathaniel flung open his bedchamber curtains and opened the window. Restless and hot, he couldn’t sleep. Pacing in only his buckskins, he welcomed the cooling, gentle raindrops as they blew in. With his father’s merry encouragement he’d imbibed a little too much brandy after dinner, and that wouldn’t do at all. He refused to fall into old habits. Coming back to Hawcombe Prior was bound to reopen some wounds, but really he should be strong enough to bear it without needing alcohol to dull the pain. He would not make childish excuses for his bad behavior. He was an adult, a man—no longer a boy shirking his responsibilities.
He smiled wryly. Took him long enough to get there, didn’t it?
Caroline Sayles must wonder what had happened to him, for he’d expected to be back in Manderson by nightfall, instead of spending the night at his father’s house. He would send her a message in the morning and warn her that their journey to Bath must be delayed a few days. He couldn’t very well approach the tavern keeper about business while the man was in deep mourning. Keeping Caroline away a few more days might also do her aunt a favor, he mused grimly. That unfortunate lady had so recently lost a daughter and probably had no idea she was about to be descended upon by a niece with more imaginary illnesses than a child hoping to escape an algebra lesson.
Besides, necessary delay gave him an excuse to linger a few days more in Hawcombe Prior.
It was quiet there, peaceful, comfortable. He’d lived in many places in his thirty years and never stayed anywhere long, but somehow that village felt like home. His father had retired there almost ten years ago, purchasing some land and property and then settling in to enjoy his last years in comfort. Sadly, it had not turned out quite as the major hoped. Thanks to an overgenerous temperament and a kind heart easily tapped by the unscrupulous, he could never bring himself to
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