One More Kiss

CHAPTER Thirteen





THE COUNTESS DID not have to break a glass to draw their attention this time. Destry noted that even Mrs. Wilson stopped talking mid-sentence. The countess was dressed in a black gown, but it could never be taken for a mourning outfit. Diamond-like crystals glittered in the light from every inch of the fabric.

Two footmen followed her, carrying large, well-shaded flambeaux. Their presence and the uneven light from the torches added to the guests’ mood of cautious uncertainty.

“She is a dark fairy who has deigned to join us,” Destry announced to the room, giving the countess an opening with which to commence.

The countess curtsied to him. “One can always count on you to play the game, my lord.”

“With pleasure, my lady.” Destry bowed to her.

“What in the world is she planning?” Cecilia whispered, most likely to Beatrice, who had joined the group. The low hum of voices echoed the question.

“I have no idea,” Beatrice answered and then turned a questioning look at Destry.

“Something very, very different,” Destry said, stating the obvious. God help me, he thought. After not seeing Cecilia all day he’d managed to be clever for exactly one minute.

Before he could say anything else which was bound to be equally inept, the countess spoke again.

“Good evening, everyone! Tonight we are going to experience the dark and dread world of Dr. Frankenstein. Is that name familiar to any of you?”

Destry looked around the room and saw Belmont nod and Mrs. Kendrick raise her hand a little. Cecilia Brent edged closer to her sister. Destry stepped toward the duo as well, since no one had told him not to.


CECILIA WOULD NEVER raise her hand but Beatrice knew she recognized that name and the story.

“It’s the book that Ellis brought us from London.” Beatrice widened their circle a bit to include Lord Destry in their conversation. “He only brought the first volume. I’ve always wondered how it ended.”

“Perhaps we will find out tonight,” Destry said with obvious delight.

“In the novel, Dr. Frankenstein attempted to create a human being.” The countess caught the eye of each of her guests. “He succeeded, but not entirely, as the creature he gave life to was more a monster.”

Belmont raised his hand. “One could argue that it was the way mankind treated him that made him a monster.”

“Yes, indeed, my lord. I should have said that he had the physical look of a monster.”

Belmont nodded and the countess went on.

“Tonight we will hear a reading of highlighted parts of the novel after dinner. We are expecting other guests, welcome and unwelcome, as the evening progresses.”

“Who could she mean?” Cecilia was not fond of surprises.

“Maybe she has discovered the author of the book and he will attend.” Beatrice thought that would be fabulous. “But it’s probably just a way of establishing a mood, especially for those who have not read the book.”

The countess walked across the library to stand near the fireplace. “Now follow me, please. We will make our way through a hidden passage, from here to the dining room.”

“What fun!” Beatrice said, not in a whisper, drawing the attention of the assembly.

“I hope so, dear Beatrice,” the countess said as all the guests drew closer to her.

Beatrice could easily hear the pause in Miss Wilson’s voice when she said, “A secret passage?”

“There is no need to be afraid. It’s probably just a back way for the servants,” Lord Crenshaw reassured her.

“But I hate small enclosed spaces.”

“No, you don’t. I will see that you are safe.”

Despite his gallant offer to secure her safety, Beatrice thought that Lord Crenshaw’s denial of Katherine’s fear was an absurd statement from a man who had made her acquaintance only a day ago.

Beatrice noticed Lord Jess’s reaction, and was taken aback by the anger she saw in his face. She squelched her own criticism and tried another tack, announcing to no one in particular, “I would imagine that a house as old as this one must have several secret passages.”

“And ghosts,” Lord Destry added. “Excellent!”

Everyone laughed at Destry’s boyish enthusiasm. Even Lord Jess, whose expression was now more relaxed, though he did keep glancing at Lord Crenshaw with an air of interest, if not calculation.

The countess nodded to the butler. “Mervis, open the door to the hidden passage.”

With some effort, the older servant pulled on a ring that decorated the edge of the mantel. Soundlessly, the entire bookcase swung out to reveal a short flight of steps and a passage that dissolved into darkness.

“It would have been better if it had creaked,” Lord Jess whispered into Beatrice’s ear.

“I find it reassuring to know that someone has maintained it,” Beatrice answered.

“You’re not afraid, are you?” he asked with a laugh.

“Only of breaking my leg,” she answered. She took a step away from him. He was standing too close, so close that she could feel him even when he was not touching her.

He matched her movement, restoring the nearness of their bodies. “It’s your scent,” he whispered, bending down so that his breath tickled her ear. “The fragrance you wear, it’s …” He paused and thought for a moment. “It’s captivating.”

Like his eyes, she thought, and could not decide whether to abandon her new perfume or bathe in it.

“I should like to go first,” Lord Belmont announced, stepping to the front of the line.

“I knew this would capture your interest, my lord earl,” the countess said, “but one of the footmen with a lighted torch will take the lead and I will follow. Marquis Destry, will you be the last of our party with the other torch behind you?”

Destry bowed with a flourish.

“If anyone should prefer not to follow this route, Mervis will show you a more conventional way to the small banquet room.”

Mrs. Wilson stepped closer to the butler, but was the only one to do so. Her daughter looked doubtful, but with an encouraging nod from Lord Crenshaw, she took his arm.

“This is not my idea of entertainment,” Cecilia whispered to her sister. “But I am not going to act like some old lady.”

“Bravo, Ceci.” Beatrice patted her arm. “I will go in front of you and Lord Destry will be behind you, so there will be help should you need it.” It would give her sister a chance to be near him without needing to maintain a conversation.

“His idea of help would probably be dousing the torches so that we could only feel our way through the passage.”

“Ceci, he is right behind you.”

“Indeed I am, and what an excellent suggestion, but since it is your idea, I do think I will have to come up with one of my own.”

“I beg your pardon, my lord,” Cecilia said, sounding both embarrassed and annoyed.

“No need, Miss Brent. You have my measure already.” He would have gone on, but Mrs. Wilson began a soliloquy on why she could not join them, as if everyone wished to know.

Beatrice pulled her sister close and whispered. “I do believe the marquis forgives you all real and imagined insults.”

“Do you think? He does not seem to mind.” Cecilia let go of a sigh and Beatrice could see her mood lighten considerably.

When Mrs. Wilson finished and the countess sent her on her way with Mervis, the rest lined up as Beatrice suggested, with Lord Jess in front of her. Better than being in front of him and pretending she did not care how she looked from the back.

The lead footman descended the four steps into the passageway that sloped gently but inexorably down. They moved slowly and, as she stepped into the passage, Beatrice lifted her skirt with one hand and reached out the other to touch the wall. It was dry and smooth and cold to the touch.

When she reached the bottom of the short flight of steps, Beatrice noticed that lit torches were set high on the wall for as far as she could see, but they just cast confusing shadows, adding to the haunted feel of the dim space.

“This is not so bad,” Cecilia whispered.

Apparently the whisper carried in the narrow space.

“No, no, Miss Brent,” Destry said. “A comment like that is just asking for trouble.”

No sooner had he spoken than Beatrice heard the scuttling sound of something small and four-footed.

Destry’s “You see? What in the world was that?” was not at all reassuring.

Lord Jess turned and spoke over his shoulder. “Have no fear, ladies. I am sure that sound is only for effect.”

“We’re not afraid, are we, Cecilia?”

“No,” said Cecilia. Her single word was so loaded with doubt that Beatrice had to bite her lip to keep from laughing.

“I will step closer to you, Miss Cecilia,” Destry said. He must have, for Cecilia moved closer to her sister. A moment later Cecilia made a sound of distress, and began a dance of frantic movement. “Something just brushed my hand.”

“I’m sure it was only the tip of my scarf, Miss Cecilia,” Lord Destry said. “It’s nothing to be afraid of.”

“Your scarf? It was your scarf?” She was almost crying and then, with what Beatrice knew was a supreme effort, Cecilia went on. “Then perhaps you are standing a little too close, my lord.”

Mrs. Kendrick’s laughter echoed back to them and Beatrice relaxed a little. “Think of us as a troop of soldiers, Miss Brent,” Mrs. Kendrick called out. “We are made comrades by the unknown, determined to protect one another no matter what happens.”

“I was thinking,” Beatrice said, “that we are like a group of children who have very mixed feelings about this adventure but are reassuring ourselves of a nice treat at the end.”

“No, we are adults who are playing and frightening ourselves in the process.”

“You are marvelous, Miss Cecilia,” Jess said from his position directly in front of them. “Cutting right to the truth of the matter.”

“Let’s move on,” the countess ordered kindly.

“Ladies,” Jess turned and whispered to the sisters, “I wager a guinea that Miss Wilson screams first.”

Neither of them had a chance to accept or decline the wager before an unfamiliar masculine voice echoed along the passage and they all froze. It was heavily accented. German, perhaps.

“Dr. Frankenstein,” the voice called out in a macabre bass. “Help me. Help me. Help me.” The last was a long drawn-out wail that did, indeed, make Katherine Wilson scream.

While the voice chilled Beatrice to the bone, she was rational enough to find amusement in the theatrics.

Then someone ahead of them stumbled, and the reaction echoed down the line. Beatrice lost her footing on the descending path and wrapped her arms around Lord Jessup so she did not fall or push him into Miss Wilson who was in front of him.

Jess wrapped his hands around hers as they cinched his waist, her face pressed into his back. Surrounded by darkness, she could barely see, but she could feel his breath sharpen, the muscles in his back ripple. She wished there was more light and that they were face-to-face so she could raise her eyes to his and see what he was thinking, whether he was as aware of her as she was of him.

Instead she pulled her arms out of his grasp with a whispered, “Thank you, my lord. I only needed a moment’s support.” Then wished she had come up with something a little more flirtatious.

“And here I thought you were flirting with me.”

“No!” she protested. “I was afraid that if I fell, others would, too.”

“How thoughtful,” he said agreeably.

She didn’t have to flirt; he was good enough at it for both of them. She pressed her lips together, not that anyone could see her smile.

They moved forward once again, but now they could hear someone crying and Lord Crenshaw’s voice, reassuring but edged with frustration. “Calm yourself. It’s only a party game.”

Lord Jess reached forward and put his arm around Miss Wilson’s waist. “Forgive my impertinence, Miss Wilson, but close your eyes and hold on to me. Think of being in a meadow or some other large open space. Let your imagination go there and we will be in the dining room in just a moment.”

How kind of him, Beatrice thought, his thoughtfulness pushing her interest in him one notch higher. Maybe he used teasing and flirtation as a way to hide his more generous nature.

I want to know this man better. I want to know what he thinks, how he sees the world, how I would fit into his arms, and what his kiss is like. It was a truth she would keep to herself for now.

A few more steps, a turn around a sharp corner, and a glowing light announced the end of the trail. Within a minute they joined the party at the back of a room, lit with the same flambeaux in tall stands. The ladies stood apart from the gentlemen and took a moment to shake out their skirts The gentlemen brushed off their sleeves, though there was no sign of dust or insects.

Beatrice turned to Katherine Wilson. “Are you quite all right now, Katherine?” She cared for the girl, but was also grateful for the excuse to avoid Lord Jess’s distracting presence.

Katherine nodded, but she was still shivering and Beatrice wondered if she should offer to take her to her mother.

“I am so sorry, my dear,” Lord Crenshaw said, “and I apologize to you, too, Miss Brent. I had no idea her fear was so real.”

Beatrice knew he valued her good opinion and though she thought him in the wrong, she nodded her acceptance of his apology. Lord Crenshaw offered her his arm and they moved away from the end of the passage.

While the countess fussed over Katherine Wilson, full of apologies, Lord Crenshaw escorted Beatrice over to Cecilia and then stood with them.

“How many more such passages are there?” Destry asked, his enthusiasm obvious, giving everyone a happy distraction.

“I am sure there is one less passage than Lord Destry would like,” Cecilia breathed to her sister.

“Mervis could tell you,” the countess said. “I can never quite recall.”

Flanked by the two footmen with their flambeaux, the countess approached the table. Before she could take her seat the disembodied voice called out, again.

“Dr. Frankenstein. I need you. I am begging. Please.” The last word was an agonized plea. After a moment of silence the voice called out, “I will make you pay for this!” This pronouncement was thunderous and everyone jumped. At least all the ladies did.

“Who is that?” Cecilia whispered with some vehemence to no one in particular.

“Is the voice familiar to you?” Lord Jess asked, looking at her with a calculating eye. “Care to wager? I will take Mr. Wilson, who is a practical joker of the highest order. He has decided to join us and that is why his wife did not come with us through the secret passage.”

“I accept that. One guinea, my lord?” Beatrice said with a coquettish tilt of her head.

“Bitsy! Papa would never approve of that,” Cecilia whispered. “You know how he dislikes using money for such things.”

“But I know it’s not Mr. Wilson,” Beatrice whispered back. “Even Papa would agree that wagering on something you are certain of is like a wise business decision.”

“Hmmm” was all Cecilia said, apparently unconvinced.

“Who do you think it is, Miss Beatrice?” Destry asked.

“I do not have to say the name aloud, do I?” Beatrice turned to Lord Jess. “Only to you.”

“Yes, that will be sufficient for me as long as no one else accepts the wager.” Beatrice came close to him and whispered the name. Lord Jess smiled like a pleased tutor.

“Your gaming had best end with this, Bitsy,” Cecilia whispered with unusual sharpness.

“Have we not already agreed to be taught after Papa leaves?” Beatrice murmured, and then added, “I am not sure how I will find out if I am right.”

“Where is he speaking from?” Destry asked, rising up and down on the balls of his feet as if that would help him see better.

All four of them scanned the walls of the room. Only then did Beatrice notice the artwork. The space had a vaulted ceiling with the ceiling panel painted as the heavens. The walls were a single continuous mural depicting something monumental and Roman. She must come back and see this in better light.

“He could easily blend in with the life-size men in the mural, especially with the room so dimly lit.” This contribution from Lord Jess.

The rest of the party stood in another group except for Lord Belmont, who was making a circuit of the space.

“Lord Belmont may find out for us,” Beatrice observed. “For him it is another mystery to be solved.”

“Ladies and gentlemen.”

The three words called their attention to the countess, who was now seated at the head of the table with the two footmen standing on either side of her. The crystals on her dress caught the light, the glow making her look intimidating as it proclaimed her majesty.

With a silent gesture to Destry to seat himself at the foot of the table she acknowledged him as the ranking nobleman present.

“Isn’t it interesting that, without a spouse, the countess can devise a number of different seating arrangements that honor us by rank?” Cecilia was twisting her hands together, trying to hide her nerves.

“So that guarantees we will always be in the middle,” Beatrice added with logic. “But you watch and see if we do not always have a different gentleman seated next to us.”

“Oh, do you think that’s what she intends?” Cecilia looked down at her dress and smoothed a nonexistent crease.

Before Beatrice could answer her sister, indeed before she could admit that she had no idea what the countess intended, the disembodied voice spoke again.

“Sit down, now, my lord.” His command was whispered and was all the more threatening for it.

Belmont bowed in response and left his study of the darker corners of the room. He sat to the countess’s right, Crenshaw to her left, and the footman guided the others to their seats.

The countess raised her glass. “Here’s to an intriguing evening.”