The Rise and Fall of Reginald Everheart Read online

  As much as he would like to further his acquaintance with the lovely Dulcie Middleworth, it was pointless. He was to join an expedition—his first—into the jungles of South America on a venture to settle the question of the true headwaters of the Amazon in a little over a month. It didn’t seem right, and certainly not fair, to engage any woman’s affections if he intended to go off without knowing with any certainty that he would return. He’d observed firsthand what happened to such women and he had vowed never to marry. Of course, it wasn’t fair either that this particular woman with her blue eyes and her engaging laugh had not only taken up permanent residence in the sanctuary of the Explorers Club library but had invaded his dreams, as well.

  He had thought he would discourage any attraction between them by keeping to himself. Aside from a cordial daily greeting and insipid agreement on both their parts as to the state of London’s weather, they scarcely ever spoke. Nonetheless, he was continually acutely aware of her. How could he not be? She was so annoyingly there.

  She left the faintest scent behind whenever she walked through the room, something vaguely floral and slightly spicy, like an exotic jungle blossom. When any of the women from the Ladies Committee were present doing whatever it was they did—it seemed suspiciously like puttering, but they did go about it in a determined manner—they routinely chatted with Dulcie or stopped to admire her work. Or shared surprisingly astute observations on the events of the day. Inevitably someone would say something amusing and Dulcie’s laughter would drift through the air and wrap around his heart. He wasn’t sure there was any sound quite so delightful and enchanting as that of Dulcie Middleworth’s laugh.

  She was as talented as she was lovely. Whenever she left the library for whatever reason, he would find it necessary to stretch his legs or he would require a book on the far side of the room and would inevitably pass by her table where her work would be spread out for all to see. He knew nothing about artistic endeavors but anyone could see her work was good. Very good. With pen and ink and paint she made the bits of ancient pottery or rare Roman coins or artifacts from long dead civilizations come alive.

  Keeping his distance from her was perhaps the hardest thing he had ever done. He had known it would be difficult from the moment he had first walked into this room three months ago. She had been sitting where she was now but the time of year and time of day had conspired to bathe her in a ray of sunlight, gilding her dark hair and casting a glow around her. As if she were an ethereal being composed entirely of light and beauty. Or a goddess sent to tempt unsuspecting mortals. A man of less practical sensibilities would have thought it a sign of divine intervention and not simply the angle of the sun and the placement of the windows. Michael’s plans for the foreseeable future did not include falling head over heels for anyone, let alone the daughter of a viscount and an influential member of the Explorers Club.

  Dulcie Middleworth was not making his resolve any easier.

  For one thing, she might well be every bit as attracted to him as he was to her, although he was grateful she had never said or done anything to confirm his suspicions. It was far easier to ignore any foolish feelings he might have if he pretended there was nothing between them. But aside from the fact that she stared at him rather frequently, just as he stared at her, there had been any number of times their gazes had met for longer than a fleeting instant. Understandable really. When he was in the midst of a heated discussion with other club members about a past discovery or some as yet unknown find, he forgot his determination to avoid any connection with her. The first time his gaze had caught hers in the midst of an impassioned debate about something he couldn’t even remember now, he was stunned to note she was not only listening but appeared to be quite interested. But then why wouldn’t she be? After all, her father was an ardent supporter of the club and known for inviting promising younger members, as well as those well-known experienced explorers, to his home for dinner and stimulating conversation. Michael had never been fortunate enough to receive such an invitation and wasn’t entirely sure he would be comfortable accepting as Dulcie would surely be in attendance.

  Her obvious intelligence only made her more intriguing. It was his understanding that women were not, as a rule, particularly interested in matters of this sort. The next time he had been engaged in a rousing discussion, he couldn’t help but glance her way, only to find her nodding in agreement with him. His heart—which apparently had a mind of its own—had clenched at her approval. Utter nonsense of course and yet he found himself catching her gaze more and more when he was in the midst of a discourse. On occasion, it was obvious she did not agree with whatever point he had made, and while her disagreement was annoying it was also rather amusing and it was all he could do to ignore the desire to continue the debate with her alone after his companions had gone. But who knew where that might lead? He suspected a talk of an intellectual nature would never suffice.

  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 Dru
mmond 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.”