One More Kiss (21 page)

“The countess said it is no longer stable enough for dinners but that it is safe enough for a few at a time. Do you want to see what the view is like?”

Lady Olivia nodded with enthusiasm, and then
began the climb up the man-made staircase that wound around the trunk of a tree that was easily twenty-five feet in girth.

“Where is your sister?” Olivia paused halfway up and turned to face Beatrice. “Would she not find this fascinating?”

“I expect Cecilia will meet us here eventually, but your time in the kitchen inspired her.”

Olivia wrinkled her nose in a way that was half apology, half embarrassment.

“No, no, you have a passion for cooking that we both respect,” Beatrice insisted, and stepped ahead of Olivia to take the lead. “It was Cecilia’s dearest wish to approach the garden staff. She has made the acquaintance of the head gardener and today she convinced him to show her the greenhouses.”

They had reached the platform itself and stopped to take it all in. Fabric had been draped through the branches, giving the platform a fanciful appearance.

“Is that watered silk? How extravagant.” Olivia walked over to finger the cream-colored material. There was no table, but there were a chaise longue and two chairs covered in brown and green.

“This is the perfect spot for a couple to meet for a tête-à-tête.” Olivia spoke half to herself.

Or something more
. Beatrice barely kept herself from voicing that aloud and refused to even think that her father and the countess might have come here together.

Feeling very much an intruder in a spot she now associated with intimacy, Beatrice sat on one of the branches that ran along the edge of the space.

“Doing what one loves is so very satisfying,” Olivia assured her, finding her own seat on a nearby branch.

Young ladies were expected to know something of gardening, but Lady Olivia’s love of cooking was more than a little unusual for the daughter of a duke. Beatrice mulled over how to ask about it. “When did you realize that you loved working with food?” That was a safe enough way to bring up the subject.

“When I was about twelve. I wondered why some dishes were so excellent and some were not. Mama would never have let me spend time in the kitchen, but she was not well and Tildy, my governess, was easily distracted.

“So I would sneak down and observe. I dressed like one of the servants and by the time Cook figured out who I was she also realized that I was fascinated by food. We were two artists who shared a passion, and there was no stopping me. Or Cook. After a while we discovered that baking was my favorite and I began to help with that exclusively.”

“What an amazing tale. If I had tried something like that, Mama would have confined me to my room until I was over the urge.” Perhaps she should not have said that. Lady Olivia was so easy to talk to that Beatrice did not censor her words at all around her.

“Yes, it is odd, is it not, that dukes and their families are allowed eccentricities that society would not otherwise tolerate.”

“We are all very lucky in your case.” The delicious memory was enough to make her mouth water. “Breakfast has been amazing the past two days.”

“Cinnamon rolls are popular with everyone,” Olivia said, her conspiratorial whisper pleased. “All I have to
do is promise that the servants will have their fair share and Cook is pressured unmercifully until she allows me to bake.”

“Lucky for Papa that he had a chance to take some with him. And to make your acquaintance.” She added the last hurriedly.
For the love of God, why had she brought up Papa’s departure?
She had avoided mentioning it before. From the corner of her eye she watched for Lady Olivia’s reaction.

“I am so pleased to have met him, even if it was only for a few minutes.”

Beatrice felt some relief. At least one of them knew how to make polite conversation.

Papa’s send-off had been a private and thoroughly feminine event, surrounded as he was by his daughters and the countess. Then Lady Olivia had come hurrying in from the kitchen, bearing two perfect cinnamon rolls. She was kind enough to wrap them up for Mr. Brent.

“He certainly was in good spirits, and that was even before I made him a gift of the cinnamon rolls.”

“I have not seen him this happy in months.” Did she sound defensive? She hoped not.

“It’s quite obvious that he and the countess are very fond of each other.”

“You are not shocked by it?” Beatrice blurted out.

“No,” Olivia said. “Never.”

Abandoning the pretext of purely social conversation, Beatrice looked directly at Olivia. “Do you think it disloyal of me to be happy for him? Mama has only been gone a little over a year. She wanted us happy more than anything.” Beatrice ignored the well of tears.

“Of course it’s not disloyal.”

Lady Olivia’s words were reassuring, but then what else could she have said?

“My own brother fell in love again after the death of his first wife, and it was not nearly as straightforward as your father and the countess.”

Beatrice had no idea what to say to that. A dozen questions filtered through her mind.

“And one of my other brothers married a woman who pretended to be a prostitute in order to save lives in France during the war. At least I think she was pretending.”

For the love of God, which brother was that?

“And wait until you meet David and Mia. She is forever irritating him and she insists that she does it on purpose because making up is so much fun.” Olivia wrinkled her nose, and her cheeks grew pink. “I do not care what Jess says; the love of a good woman makes a man happier than anything else in the world.”

“What does Jess say?” Beatrice could not resist that leading statement.

“Jess is a puzzle to all of us,” Olivia said, not answering the question. “He gives the appearance of a man given to little more than gaming and women, but when you think of what he did for Annie Blackwood you have to know that there is more to him than he allows most people to see.”

“Who is Annie Blackwood?” And what were she and Lord Jess to each other?

“One of my dearest friends. She was the daughter of my governess and like a sister to me. She is still at Penn ford and I doubt she will ever leave.”

Which did not answer Beatrice’s question, or at least the part about Jess. Lord Jess, she reminded herself.

“Mayhap he will fall in love here,” Olivia said with a lightness that did not match the wistfulness in her eyes. “I so wish he could be as happy as I am.”

“What kind of woman would it take?” Beatrice really hoped Olivia would answer her even if it was an impertinent question.

“He needs someone who can see below the surface and find the man who is loyal to the extreme, is honorable regardless of the consequences, and loves his family even though he is estranged from them. And that last makes no sense at all.”

“Yes, it does.” Beatrice stood so quickly that the branch that was her seat shook. “You can love someone even when they are irritating. Sometimes Ceci will drive me near mad with her worry about her appearance and her hair and what she should talk about, but I always love her.” Having made her point as forcefully as she could, Beatrice sat back down carefully.

“Yes.” Olivia slipped off her branch and moved over to sit on one of the chairs, which all but swallowed her. She looked like a doll sitting in her owner’s chair. “Sometimes Michael talks to me like I am one of his parishioners.”

She lowered her voice in imitation of her husband. “Olivia, the first Commandment means there is no work in the kitchen on Sunday.” Olivia made a face again. “Then I ask him why the servants work on Sunday and he shakes his head as if my cooking is no more than a hobby.”

It was obvious from her wrinkled brow that even the
memory of the conversation annoyed her. “I love him totally and completely, even then.”

They sat in silence awhile. Beatrice watched Olivia’s face soften, and looked away as though she had caught the woman in a daydream not meant to be shared. Perhaps she would bring her husband back here later.

To love someone so much that the mere thought of that love could make you happy. Lord Jess came to mind, but she decided that was only because of the way he made her feel. Not because there was any potential for a lasting connection between them.

“Did you see the arrangement of the small figures on the mantel this morning?” Olivia sat up straight and struggled to the edge of the chair. “I mean, the figurines that the countess had made for the first arrivals.”

“Yes. They’ve been rearranged. Who could have done that? And what does it signify?”

“You will have to tell me. For instance, the way Lord Crenshaw is posed between you and Katherine Wilson as if he must make a choice.” Olivia moved even closer. “Beatrice, has the baron been courting you?”

“No!” Beatrice said and then reconsidered. “Well, I have been wondering, as he did dance with me twice at the Assemblies, but I thought it might be because he was interested in knowing my father better. Perhaps it is the beginning of a courtship.”

“He cannot be very good at it if you have never seriously acknowledged it until now.”

That made Beatrice giggle. “It may not be his fault. The truth is I am not all that interested in marriage. I want to study art and focus all my passion on that.”

Olivia was silent for a long moment. “That is a subject for a whole different discussion.”

“What is?”

“Whether passion for a much-loved profession is sufficient for a woman. Or a man,” she added after a moment’s pause.

Beatrice could feel a lecture coming. “I am not interested in the baron. I have come to think he is too controlling.”

“I am relieved. My family does not think highly of him.”

“But why?” This was not the comment she had expected at all.

“I’m sorry, Beatrice, I should never have mentioned it. I wish I could tell you, but it is not something that is ever discussed.”

It was a very gentle rebuke but Beatrice could feel her cheeks go blotchy with embarrassment. She stood and wandered over to the edge of the platform. She leaned against the rail and felt it give a little. She stepped back. Looking down from even this modest height made her nervous and excited all at once. Beatrice backed away from the edge and found a spot in the exact middle.

“Please do not be embarrassed. It was my mistake. It’s just that you are so easy to talk to and I am surrounded by men at home. Annie has been away caring for her mother, who is failing, so I have had no one with whom to discuss my concerns. The duchess is lovely but years older than I am.”

“If Lord Crenshaw does show interest in Miss Wilson, is there any reason to warn her?”

“No, most definitely not.”

That was firm enough to be reassuring.

“It would do no good,” Olivia added. “Please believe me.”

That was not so reassuring, but Beatrice agreed and wished that Olivia had thought twice before bringing up the subject. Now her curiosity was awakened and she wanted to know what the secret was. Too many people had alluded to it, which also made her wonder why, if so many people knew the story, it was still shrouded with secrecy.

“What is there between the Earl of Belmont and the fascinating Mrs. Kendrick? It’s obvious, I suppose,” Olivia answered the question herself. “Their figures were situated together, very close together.”

“They are adults without attachments,” Beatrice said, quoting Lord Destry. “The marquis told me at dinner last night that the earl is content to let his brother inherit and Mrs. Kendrick is a widow, which gives her so much more freedom.”

“Speaking of William, it did not take the placement of the figures at opposite ends of the mantel for me to notice how completely your sister is avoiding him.”

William? The marquis’s Christian name is William?
Olivia really did know him well. “Yes, Cecilia is pretending he does not exist. She did not go riding the last few mornings, lest she run into him, which makes her restless and irritable.”

“He can be a pest when he has an idea he will not let go of.”

“I don’t think he was pestering her, but they will never make a connection if she keeps on ignoring him.” She considered telling Olivia about Cecilia’s realization that she had judged the marquis in such a superficial
way, but then decided that it was her sister’s “secret.”

“Do you think they are well suited?”

Now there was a direct question.

“I think they should have the opportunity to find out instead of avoiding each other.” She came closer to Olivia. “What is just as bad is that Lord Destry seems to accept the situation. He went to that prizefight with the other gentlemen yesterday when it was the perfect opportunity to stay behind, and I do not know where he was last night when we played charades.”

“He was in the small ballroom practicing his juggling,” Olivia explained. “It’s the skill he is going to demonstrate tonight.”

“Juggling?” Beatrice asked, distracted for a moment. “I suppose it does suit someone who has trouble sitting still.” As did riding.

“And today the marquis is fishing with Lord Jess and Lord Belmont. Mrs. Kendrick went with them, but no matter how much I begged, the countess would not let us go with them.”

Which was a vast disappointment since the countess had always been inclined to favor opportunities that would broaden their experience. Neither she nor Cecilia had any idea how to fish.

Olivia looked at her slyly. “I find it fascinating that you and Jess are placed together. Someone thinks of you as a couple even if you are standing at his back and he is pretending not to know that you are there.”

“Pretending?”

“Of course.” Olivia’s matter-of-fact shrug almost convinced Beatrice, who had originally thought the
placement was a hurtful comment. “Jess is fascinated by you.”

Beatrice’s heart gave a leap. “Me? He is fascinated by me?”

“He was telling me all about your explanation of Rembrandt’s drawings, and how clever you were the night of the Frankenstein discussion. A man does not talk about such things unless he is intrigued.”

Beatrice wanted to race off to the fishing stream and corner Lord Jess. She wanted answers to all her questions, first and foremost why he was both interested
and
not inclined to even look at her. Was it because he felt the same intense longing that ran through her when they were together? Hardly; the man was far more experienced in the ways of the world than she was.