One More Kiss (4 page)

“Yes, so you see, you are actually a far-thinking revolutionary.”

“Spare me that, Beatrice. I am pursuing my own interests. No more. There are men among the ‘dandies,’ as you call them, who are the real revolutionaries. Gentlemen who see that land is not the only avenue to
wealth, that manufacturing and mining are the way of the future.”

She had just proposed to him and Roger was discussing economics. With defeat certain, Beatrice stood firm on her original thought. “I will not always do what Papa insists.”

“So this is actually about defying your father and not some abiding love for me.” He came around the table and took her hand. “Beatrice, I love you. Like a sister. And you love me like a brother.”

She snatched her hand away, angry even though she knew it was true. “I wish men would stop telling me what I think.”

“But it is so obvious, my dear girl.”

She wanted to yell at him to stop being so patronizing.

“Beatrice,” he spoke softly, “using me as a way to defeat your father is unfair to all of us. It is not one of your better ideas.”

“Perhaps not,” she admitted. “But when will Papa realize that Cecilia and I have enough sense to manage this on our own?”

“He is your father, which means he will do all he can to make sure you are safe and happy. And for Abel Brent that means managing every detail he can.”

“Mama was the only one who could convince him to leave well enough alone.” Beatrice bit back the plaintive
I wish she were here
.

“The countess cares deeply for you and Ceci. Maybe you can talk to her about your father.”

“I suppose, but would that be disloyal to Papa?”

Roger laughed. “Hardly. The countess knows his failings as well as you do.”

“Really?” Roger would not make that up, but how often had the countess and her father been together? “All right. I will talk to her.” She touched his arm. “Thank you, Roger.”

“You have a fine mind, Beatrice, even if you are given to rashness. I am sure some man will find that charming.”

Beatrice laughed and this time punched his arm. “It would drive you insane in a wife, admit it.”

“Indeed, yes,” he said cheerfully. “But in a friend it is vastly entertaining.”

“I hope you have a safe trip to London.”

“Thank you, Beatrice.” He sat down again.

“What are you working on?” Beatrice pulled her spectacles from the drawstring pouch attached to her sash, and came to stand behind him.

She stared at his drawing, but even wearing her spectacles it made no sense to her. It did have a certain artistic appeal, she thought, and she tried to pick out a section suitable for study as a work of art.

Roger did not answer her. She could see that something had caught his attention and he was no longer even aware of her presence. Papa was lucky to have Roger in his employ. Design meant more to him than anything else. Including an ill-advised marriage proposal from his best friend.

Feeling aggrieved for her whole sex, Beatrice left the room, resisting the urge to slam the door. Men persisted in thinking that they ran the world. At times like this Beatrice suspected they might be right.

Chapter Three
 

“A
RE YOU HIDING
from Mrs. Wilson or her daughter, Pennistan?”

Lord Jessup Pennistan took the proffered hand and made his bow to the new Marquis Destry. Impeccably turned out, complete with his signature red scarf, the former Viscount Bendasbrook might have a new title but he was still as friendly as a ten-year-old, and about as short as one, despite his thirty years.

“Neither, but after traveling with Mrs. Wilson, I thought it only fair that Belmont and the other guests have an opportunity to find out where ‘everyone that counts’—that was her phrase—plans to spend the summer, the winter, and the Christmas holidays. Plus the chance to learn about the health and well-being of her other children. All are doing as well as can be expected under the circumstances.”

“What circumstances?” Destry asked.

“I have no idea. I believe I fell asleep. Why don’t you go ask her?”

Destry shook his head, obviously too wise in the ways of the ton and its mamas to fall into that trap. “You know, the countess never mentioned you would be attending.”

“I was a last-minute replacement to even the numbers since Mr. Wilson was unable to break away from the demands of the estate.”

“So no pending announcements from that quarter?”

“What quarter is that, Des? And have you been at the wine already?”

“You and Miss Wilson.” Destry tried to look as though he thought that was possible.

“No, it has been made perfectly clear to me that I am not an eligible
parti
,” Jess said firmly. “I could not agree more.”

The two looked over at Mrs. Wilson and her daughter. The mother was chattering away while Miss Wilson stood nearby with the polite smile of someone who was used to waiting.

“She is the sort who can talk on without ever taking a breath,” Destry observed. With unspoken agreement the two men turned away from the ladies and found a spot out of their line of sight.

“I guess we are by way of relatives now,” Destry went on. “Since my aunt is married to your brother and all.”

“And the happy ending to that tale was more than welcome,” Jess agreed, though he had yet to meet the new duchess. That was not a subject he wanted to pursue. “How lucky for me that the countess invited you
to this house party. It’s been awhile since we matched wits over cards.”

Destry smiled, rising up and down on the balls of his feet. The man found staying still a challenge. “It would be my pleasure, Jess. At least you understand it’s all a game and not some personal insult when I relieve you of a few guineas.”

“More than a few, last time we met. I hope you enjoyed it. This week luck will sit on my shoulder and it will be your pockets to let.”

“Name the place and the game and we will see who has the luck. Perhaps with a few side wagers on what alliances might be formed here.”

“It’s a party, Destry. I thought we established that I’m not looking for a match. Are you?”

“Not likely.”

Now that they had both stated the obvious disclaimers Jess wondered if Destry was as disinterested as he claimed to be. He was set to inherit a dukedom and would someday have to consider an heir.

Before Jess could sound the man out on his true intentions, the countess approached them, all cheerful greetings for Destry. Then it was his turn, and a chill radiated from her as surely as warmth had for the marquis.

“Your ability to enliven any party is well known, Lord Jess. I trust you will do your best to see that everyone is entertained without leaving them paupers.”

She gave him a cool smile before moving on to the next group.

There was a long silence before Destry spoke.

“And what did you do to earn that snub? You did say she invited you to stay.”

Jess shrugged, unwilling to go into details while the countess was still within hearing. They both watched the countess, who had left her hauteur behind as she spoke with two other gentlemen.

“I’ll mind my manners. The only reason I’m here is because Crenshaw is coming and I welcome any chance to best him at play.”

“Crenshaw, here? Won’t that be a problem? I know you meet socially but this is a small group and for an extended period of time.”

“We are quite civil to each other.”

“Despite the fact that you cuckolded him and were named in his divorce.”

“Ancient history, Destry.” Jess’s gambler’s ability to control his countenance came in handy at times like this.

“Is he courting again?” Destry asked.

“Crenshaw and I are not
that
civil, Des, and you can be sure that is one question it would be wiser for me not to ask.”

“Er, yes, I can see where any interest on your part might be misconstrued.”

“I want the land back. The land he won from me. That’s my only reason for being here.”

“The loss still rankles, eh?”

“Yes.” Which was all he was going to say on the subject, even to a friend of such long standing.

“Indeed, the estrangement between you and the duke over that wager is a source of some distress for the duchess.”

And there it was, no secret after all. “You gossip like an old lady, Destry. The next time you write to the
duchess tell her that I am doing my best to rectify the error.”

The countess spared him the need to discuss the subject any further by choosing that moment to address the assembled guests. “Welcome, welcome, dear friends. It seems that almost everyone has arrived at the same time.” She took a moment to nod and smile at her guests individually before she went on. “It will be a few minutes before we have you settled in your rooms,” she continued. “But if you would like to move into the Square Salon, we can begin the introductions, renew acquaintances, and have some food and drink as well.”

“Excellent! I am off to say hello to the others,” Destry said, with a promise to find Jess in the game room later.

A footman led the guests down the passage. Jess, the Wilsons, the countess, and two others brought up the rear of the party.

“I beg your pardon, my lord.” Miss Wilson stood at his elbow and his first thought was to check if her mother was standing beside her. No, she was still on the other side of the hall, but was watching her daughter closely. And him.

“Miss Wilson.” Jess bowed to her.

“Can you identify the lady near the Earl of Belmont? Mama does not recognize her.” Miss Wilson stood with her back to Belmont and spoke very quietly.

“That is Mrs. Kendrick. She is a widow who is only now back in society. Her husband was an admiral in His Majesty’s navy. He survived a life at sea during a war but died in an accident at home upwards of three years ago.”

“How unfortunate.” Miss Wilson raised a hand to
her mouth, her distress genuine. Jess wasn’t sure if that was because she understood the pain of losing someone or because Mrs. Kendrick’s presence added a note of sophistication with which she could not compete.

Which was totally unfair to the girl.

She was pretty and amiable, and this was her first house party. The only mark against her was that she was so very young. Seventeen, as her mother had said at least three times on the ride in. He recalled being seventeen and was rather happy that it was so far in his past.

With a quiet “Thank you, my lord,” Miss Wilson turned to rejoin her mother. Mrs. Kendrick’s dog, which resembled nothing more than an armful of fur, jumped down from her arms, began barking, and raced toward the grand staircase where a young woman hastened down.

The dog and the girl met at the bottom of the steps. She scooped up the animal, welcoming his very sloppy greeting even as Mrs. Kendrick hurried over to reclaim him.

Jess ignored the mixed cries of concern and laughter as he realized that this was the woman from the window. The one who had waved at him. Now he could see she was as lovely up close as she had appeared from a distance, with diminutive but promising curves in all the right places. Her brown hair was alive with gold highlights, her eyes a lively brown, and her mouth eminently kissable. Indeed, he thought, she was the very definition of a “pocket Venus.”

Her expressive smile captivated him, both serious and adventurous at the same time.

She held the dog away from her cheeks. The sound of
her laughter faded, but the joy of it still lit her face. What a treasure. Closely guarded, no doubt, as Jess realized that she must be one of the mill owner’s daughters for whom the countess was hosting the party.

This little Venus was blessed with a joie de vivre that would eclipse her lack of birthright, and a fortune that would make everything else irrelevant to an impoverished peer. Which he most definitely was not, neither impoverished nor a peer.

And he also had long since lost interest in innocents, he reminded himself. Seducing the unschooled was like making love to someone who spoke a different language. Even flirting brought too great a margin for misunderstanding, tears, and angry fathers. All of which he had grown tired of a lifetime ago.

She laughed again and lowered the dog to the floor. As she did, something dropped from a pocket and the ever-playful dog snatched it up.

“Do catch him, please!” The girl raced after the dog, who was heading straight for Jess. He made a grab for the animal and caught it by the black silk collar it wore. As he lifted the creature and tucked it under his arm, he bowed to the girl.

With the girl at his side, he turned toward Mrs. Kendrick, who was looking as distressed as a mother with a misbehaving child.

“Don’t move!” the little Venus ordered.

Before her words registered, Jess continued toward Mrs. Kendrick, and as he completed that first step he felt a crunch beneath his boots.

“My spectacles!” Venus cried.

Irritated by his own clumsiness, Jess handed the dog
over to its owner and bent down to retrieve the mess of metal and glass fragments. He pulled out his handkerchief and wrapped the remains so that she would not be cut by the glass.

“I told you not to move,” the girl said with quiet disappointment.