One More Kiss, page 2
“I’m sorry. I am so sorry, Bitsy. You are right.”
Most of the time I am, Beatrice thought, but did not dare say it aloud.
“I am being silly.”
“Soon these people will be our friends,” Beatrice insisted, devoutly hoping this was another one of those things she was right about. “And then when we go to London for the Season we will know people.”
“I will be relieved if they acknowledge us in London. Friendship is too much to ask.”
At the sound of wheels on gravel, Beatrice went back to the window, grateful for the distraction. Ceci was considering the dresses yet again.
“Who do you think this is?” The awe in her voice drew her sister’s attention instantly.
A singularly handsome gentleman had jumped out of the impressive coach. He was blond, well built, and lithe. He offered his hand to a woman. An older woman. Old enough to be his mother. Then he gave his hand to help a much younger woman down.
“Are they a couple?” Beatrice was surprised at the disappointment she felt as she stepped back from the window, no longer particularly interested.
“No,” Ceci said. “At least I don’t think so. My guess is that the older woman somehow talked him into escorting them and he is trying to free himself from their grasp already.”
“How in the world do you know that?” Beatrice moved back and stood next to her sister. “Yes, I do believe you’re right. He’s smiling and all that is polite but somehow he has already detached himself from them.” How had he so clearly conveyed his lack of interest without being rude? “I have no idea what his name is, but he is surely a gentleman of the ton. He has that way of dismissing someone by his very air.”
“Yes. Where do they learn how to do that?”
“It’s not an ability that is limited to men born to rank. Papa can do it.”
“Yes, he can, Bitsy, but not like this gentleman. With Papa it is quite final. With this man there is an air of regret that hints at next time.”
“I think it’s called charm,” Beatrice said, and they looked at each other, neither willing to say aloud that charm was one thing their dear papa lacked completely. They both returned their attention to the scene below. “We will meet him soon enough.”
No sooner had Beatrice spoken than the gentleman looked up.
“Eeek” was all that Ceci said before stepping back, out of sight.
Beatrice did not move, caught by the way the gentleman’s smile grew into a grin. He did not look away, but kept watching her.
Beatrice returned his smile, wishing that she could draw. She wanted to catch his delighted expression, his appeal, the way he made her skin tingle. Instead she kept staring at him, committing his face, his smile, to memory, before remembering that she was going to see him any number of times over the next weeks.
Beatrice raised her hand, not quite waving, in a gesture of greeting.
The nameless man swept off his hat and bowed extravagantly without taking his eyes from hers.
Beatrice’s smile froze. That was not what she’d intended at all. She had only wanted to make a small sign of friendship. His outlandish bow acknowledged her tiny wave as if she had invited him into her life or even into her bed. She answered his gesture by abruptly pulling the drapes closed.
Still standing in front of the velvet panel, Beatrice concentrated on the elaborate fringe as she instantly banished the mental picture of him naked in the pose of Michelangelo’s David.
“Why did you do that?” Cecilia asked.
“Why must some men think every gesture is an invitation to a flirtation? Every man except Roger.”
“He is a perfect gentleman,” Cecilia agreed.
She wished Roger were one of their party. She would have much more fun with him nearby to discuss ideas and her current readings. But no, he and Papa had to go to London this week. Papa insisted it could not wait. Now she would have no escape from unwanted flirtation. Best not to dwell on it at all, she decided.
“That dress will look awful on you,” Beatrice said with as straight a face as she could manage.
Ceci turned to her, panic in her eyes, and then relaxed. “Oh, stop teasing me. It’s lovely. But is it too much for the first night?”
“Perhaps we should let the maid the countess hired give us her opinion. She has served the ton for years and I’m sure we can depend on her.”
Ceci’s long silence gave Beatrice hope.
“Yes, that’s a very good idea.”
It was as much enthusiasm as her sister had shown all day.
Beatrice kept her expression solemn but mentally clapped her hands and wished she could jump up and down. If Cecilia kept on being this reasonable and listening to her suggestions, this house party would be as much fun as she insisted it could be. Beatrice relaxed for the first time since their arrival.
There was a tap at the sitting room door and a footman came in at her “Enter.”
“I beg your pardon, miss, but Mr. Brent would like to see you and your sister before he leaves. He is in the front hall salon if you would like me to escort you there.”
The twins exchanged a look and then Cecilia stopped at the looking glass to check her appearance, and Beatrice gathered her spectacles. She could only hope that whatever Papa had to say would not ruin all her efforts at cheering Ceci.
Chapter Two
“I’VE SENT FOR Beatrice and Cecilia so I can give them the written guest list as you asked, but before they arrive I want to know why in the world Lord Jessup Pennistan has been added to the list.” Abel Brent set the paper down. Still standing, he folded his arms and waited for the countess’s answer.
“Because it is impossible to say no to him.” The dowager Countess of Haven folded her arms, imitating him, ready for an argument. When Abel stayed silent, a shocked look on his face, the countess laughed instead.
“Not in that way, dearest. At least not for me. I am almost old enough to be his mother.” An outright lie. Her own son was two years older than Lord Jessup. “Jess is a charming rogue whom I’ve known since he was in swaddling clothes.”
“But his reputation, Jasmine. He was involved in a divorce.”
“Yes, he was, and Jess is so charming that the man who brought the suit still sees him socially. And as you well know, the baron will be a guest at this very house party.”
“I don’t know.” His hesitation was all she needed.
“But I do, Abel, and I would never do anything that would endanger Beatrice and Cecilia. I think having Lord Jess to flirt with will be excellent practice for the Season.”
“Then you think they will have a Season? That the guests here will approve? I am not worried about Lord Crenshaw. I do believe he has a slight tendre for Beatrice. There is Mrs. Wilson and the Earl of Belmont, and even Nora Kendrick has some influence.” Brent shook his head, looking even more uncertain.
“What is there not to love about your girls? The two are bound to be welcome wherever they go.”
“We are prejudiced, Jasmine. Their father and their godmother can hardly be expected to harbor any objectivity.”
“You do know that I have enough cachet, even as a dowager, to present them? I am only hoping for them to know a few people before we arrive in town. It will make the girls so much more comfortable from the start.”
“It could happen.” Which was what Abel said when he knew he was being stubborn, but did not want to say so aloud.
“Which brings me back to Lord Jess.” She had best clear that up now. “There will be rogues aplenty dangling after them in London and a small flirtation with someone like Jess will teach them how to handle it.”
“But what if he seduces one of them?”
“Have some faith in your daughters.” Jasmine could not quite control the edge in her voice. “Besides, I have warned Jess to be on his best behavior.”
“His brother the duke must be disgusted with him.”
“I have no idea,” Jasmine lied again. “His sister and her husband will be joining us. Perhaps you can ask them when you return.”
Brent laughed, as the countess had intended. “I wonder how Mrs. Wilson will handle Lord Jessup’s presence with a chick of her own to launch.”
“They seemed to be on the best of terms when they arrived. He came in the coach with them since her husband was unable to come and Jane dislikes traveling alone.”
“He came with them?” Brent’s expression was incredulous.
“I told you he was charming.”
“Now you see, that is what makes me nervous. My girls have no experience with men like that.”
“Well, they will after this next fortnight, won’t they?” And that was the last of it, the countess decided. “I am going to greet the latest arrivals. The girls should be here any moment.”
AS BEATRICE FOLLOWED the footman she saw the countess leave a room up ahead, walking purposefully in the other direction. As she expected, the footman opened the door to the room the countess had just left.
“Papa!” Cecilia exclaimed, hurrying over to her father before the footman had even closed the door. “Is everything all right?”
“Why are you still here?” Beatrice asked with much less tact. “Where is Roger? Is he still here, too?”
“Roger is in the study on the first floor, where he cannot find anything but books to flirt with.”
Abel Brent dominated the space with his size and the aura of power he carried with him. He had the kind of presence that made people stop on the street and ask each other who he was. Not a gentleman by birth, he was still a man who commanded respect.
“Roger never flirts! He is a complete gentleman. The finest I have ever met.”
“So you remind me whenever I want to dismiss him.” Papa folded his arms and looked down at her.
Beatrice mimicked his stance but had to look up, which did spoil the effect. “You would never find another machine designer half as talented as he is.”
“Precisely why I let you convince me to keep him on.”
His smile made Beatrice smile in return. She did love her papa, even when he was annoying.
Cecilia came between them and took her father’s arm. “Did you have us come so you could wish us well one last time, Papa?”
“Of course,” he said as if that thought had just occurred to him. “And the countess insisted that I give you the guest list. She says one’s memory is never perfect when dealing with so many new faces. A dozen guests in all. I have added two and scratched out one who had to send a regret at the last minute. So it’s to be twelve,” he said again, “though not all are arriving today.”
He pulled the thrice-folded list from his pocket. “Now tell me the names you recall,” Papa demanded, draining a little more fun from the air.
“There was a gentleman with a red scarf. Ceci recognized him.” Beatrice prompted her sister with a nod.
“Yes.” Cecilia’s panicked expression eased. “It was Viscount Bendasbrook, who has another title now.”
“He is the Marquis Destry. His father is the Duke of Bendas. Destry is his heir.”
“I do believe we saw Mrs. Wilson and her daughter,” Beatrice went on, guessing at the two women who had arrived with that flirtatious man.
“Miss Wilson is not yet out and this will be her first exposure to the ton. I want you girls to be kind to her.”
Papa did have a soft spot for the newcomer, being one himself.
“Papa, we would not be anything but kind,” Cecilia insisted. “After all, we are in the same position.”
“Baron Crenshaw, of course,” Beatrice said. They all knew him a bit. His estate was near Birmingham and she had danced with him more than once at the Assemblies.
“A fine gentleman,” Papa acknowledged, “even if he has spent most of his time in London until recently. Birmingham society is lucky to have a man of his stature in residence these days.”
“The Earl of Belmont,” Beatrice continued, though she knew nothing about him but his name.
“Who is not worth a guinea,” their father said, consulting a seemingly ever-present mental ledger. “His father invested in hot-air balloons as a means of transporting goods. A disaster in more ways than one. Still, an earl would give you an entrée to society.”
Both girls nodded. They knew what was coming next.
“Your dowry and his title would make a nice package, eh? I think that’s entirely possible.”
“Yes, Papa,” Ceci answered as Beatrice tried to control her annoyance at such an absurd suggestion. How many times would she have to tell her father that she was not interested in marrying someone with a title, if she married at all? And Ceci should not be subjected to such a fate, either.
“Not that I would have you marry for a title,” he added, giving Beatrice a knowing look. “But I want you both to be secure and comfortable in society, for I will not always be with you.”
“Oh, Papa,” Ceci said, as if everyone knew Mr. Brent would defy death forever.
Her father briefed them again on the good and bad points of the rest of the men and women on the list. He was such a mix of sensibilities. He loved them, Beatrice knew that without a doubt, but he was so attuned to business that he hated to see an opportunity pass him by.
“And there is a new addition to the list, Lord Jessup Pennistan,” Papa said as he shook his head, a confused frown replacing his usual certainty. It was so rare an expression that Beatrice leaned closer so as not to miss a word.
“Lord Jessup has nothing to recommend him except that he is the son and brother of a duke. He has been involved in several tawdry incidents which I will not even discuss with gently bred girls, and his main occupation is gaming.”
Never mind the gambling, Beatrice thought, it was the “tawdry incidents” that intrigued her.
“Why, Papa,” Beatrice said, recalling where she had heard Lord Jessup’s name before, “he is the one who came with Ellis when you called him home from London, is he not? I never met him but I recall that Ell could talk of nothing but what a fine fellow he was.”
“Being called ‘fine’ by a man not yet twenty-two carries no weight with me. Have nothing to do with him,” her father said with his sternest expression, “but I want you both to consider all the other gentlemen carefully. Even Lord Belmont. It would be most excellent if one or, praise God, both of you made a match here. Men who would be willing to invest in the mills and the canals and even consider the new train engines under discussion would be even better.”
“No, Papa,” Beatrice said firmly, even as Cecilia nodded. “We are not here to be bought and sold like two bolts of cloth. We are here to see how the ton suits us and if we would like a full Season in London.”
“That’s what the countess said, but I am also sure she agrees with me.”
“No, she does not,” Beatrice insisted. Cecilia gasped at her boldness.
“Beatrice!” her father snapped. “Now is not the time for one of your battles for independence. You will go into this house party with an open mind and make a good match.”
It was such an absurd statement that Beatrice laughed. She could not help it, even though she knew it would infuriate her father.
“Papa,” Cecilia interrupted, ever the peacemaker. “Please do not upset Beatrice. You know how splotchy her complexion becomes when she loses her temper. And we both want to look our best.”
“Yes, very well,” her father said, grabbing at the peace offering. His daughters made to curtsy but he gave each one a crushing hug instead, whispering to Beatrice, “Find someone and be engaged before this is over.”
Beatrice stared at the closing door, gritting her teeth and doing her best to control her temper. She would make sure that Cecilia was distracted and then she was going to see Roger. If he agreed, she would be able to silence her father once and for all. She seethed all the way back to their suite, a plan forming in her head.
When they were in their sitting room with the footman on the other side of the door, Beatrice gathered up the dresses and went through the bedchamber into the dressing room, Cecilia following, just as she’d hoped. “What are you doing, Bitsy? I have not finished deciding what to wear.”
Inside the narrow space, their new maid was putting away the rest of their things, but she stopped the moment they came to the door.
“Darwell,” Beatrice began, “we want to know what dresses to wear and how to wear them to our best advantage. We need your advice.”
“Advice, Miss Brent?” the maid asked, with a hauteur that was somehow reassuring.
“Yes, exactly. Cecilia had hoped to devise a list before we left Birmingham, but the gowns arrived too late. I think it is a blessing in disguise, as your advice is just what she needs.”
The woman had such a superior demeanor that Beatrice was half afraid she might refuse.
“If you want to prepare a dressing plan, Miss Cecilia, I would be delighted to help you both.”
“Yes, if you please.” Cecilia was so meek that even Darwell shook her head.
“You never need to say please to me, miss. I work for you.”
Cecilia gave an uncertain nod and followed Darwell into the dressing room.
Perfect, Beatrice thought. She forced herself to walk away slowly despite wanting to run, patted her pocket to be sure she had her spectacles, and was at the door to the bedchamber before she announced, “I’m going downstairs to find out what time dinner will be and where we are to gather beforehand.”
“Bitsy, Darwell should do that!” Cecilia called from the dressing room, but Beatrice pretended not to hear.
If Papa was so set on an engagement then she would present him with one this very night.
Beatrice hurried along the hallway and down one flight of stairs to the first floor. The footman directed her to the library and she waited impatiently for him to knock on the door and for Roger to call “Enter.”
Storming into the room, Beatrice struggled to calm herself enough to keep from launching into her tirade until the door was closed. “For the love of God, Roger, marrying some dandy because he has money or a title is completely unacceptable.” Beatrice waited until Roger Tremaine glanced up from the plans he was fiddling with. “I will not even do it to please Papa.”
