Time's Fool by Patricia Veryan

ironic twist of fate, that of all the women in the world, it had to be his dream wife he had handled so shabbily! Forgetting her infuriating obstinacy, he could think only of how impatiently he had tossed her into the carriage, and, dismayed, he stammered, “I did not mean—That is, I would not for the world—Oh, Lord, Naomi! I wish you will believe—”
    â€œLa, what vehemence,” she interpolated with a bored shrug. “And it is, after all, of peu d’importance, ” From the corner of her eye she saw him stiffen. Concentrating on straightening the cuff of her glove, she added, “Nor did I come here for an apology, sir.”
    â€œI had thought perhaps you came to offer one,” he said quietly.
    â€œI!” Outraged, she frowned at him.
    He stepped closer. “The reception I was accorded at the Manor was not what a man might expect when calling on his betrothed. I realize we have been long apart, but we are betrothed—or so I believed.”
    How sincere and earnest he managed to appear! She yearned to scratch him, but there were more deadly things than scratches. And so she laughed, soft and liltingly, and had the satisfaction of seeing him flinch. “Are we? Lud, I must have forgot! But never think you were quite out of our thoughts. Rumours do manage to drift back to England. Sooner or later.”
    She “must have forgot…” Gideon took a steadying breath. “And you began to forget—when, my lady? Five minutes after you left London? Or was it only after you became a Toast? Rumours reach Holland also, you see, and your reputation has provided many a rank joke over slopping tankards in verminous alehouses.”
    Quivering with wrath, she half-whispered, “How dare you?”
    He gripped her wrist, and jerking her close, said through his teeth, “I dare because I fought the man who said you had been seen leaving Lord Wellby’s house unchaperoned at two in the morning! I knocked down the newspaper writer who named you hoyden for galloping your horse along St. James’ and scattering a herd of cows, causing a fine uproar. Like a fool I believed none of the gossip from Italy, but dreamed only of coming home; of finding you at last, and starting the life we had planned together.” Sadness came into his grey eyes. He added slowly, “I had such hopes … such wonderful plans to share with my little meadow sprite…”
    It was the name he had called her when she was a worshipful sixteen and he a magnificent twenty-two. Naomi had to look away.
    So intent were they upon their quarrel that they had failed to hear Lieutenant Morris, who came down the main stairs pulling on his gauntlets and humming to himself. He saw them, heard Rossiter’s last few words, and froze, then started to turn about. The stair creaked under his foot. In an agony of embarrassment he checked again, dreading lest he be discovered and judged to have been listening.
    Rossiter’s entire attention was on Naomi. Perhaps she was simply overwrought … In years past he had always been able to win her from anger or sadness. He said gently, “My dear, I am very sorry. I know I’ve handled this badly. An you will but listen…”
    Although she said nothing, it seemed to him that she swayed to him a little. Releasing her wrist, he tried to see her face, but it was concealed by the brim of her hat. Carefully, he removed the offending article. She raised no objection, and he drew her closer and touched her averted cheek. “I should not have said such things. Forgive me, I beg you. Rumour is such a vicious thing, Naomi. We must not let it come between us and destroy all our dreams.”
    She said in a voice that trembled, “It—has been so long, Gideon.”
    â€œYes, beloved. But a whole glorious future stretches before us. I will try very hard to make you happy always. I swear it.”
    Her head was bowed still, but