One More Kiss

CHAPTER Twenty





CECILIA HAD A general idea where the art gallery was but she still made three wrong turns and finally had to ask a footman for the easiest way to find it, hoping that Beatrice would really be there.

The gallery was not lit tonight, and the full moon provided the only illumination. Despite the gloom Cecilia could see Beatrice sitting on an upholstered bench across from some gigantic scene of a man at sea. The sailing ship was fighting the elements and it seemed to be losing.

“This painting is exactly how I feel, Ceci.” Beatrice spoke without turning her head as Cecilia sat next to her.

“As though you are struggling against nature?”

“Yes, exactly. I am attracted to the man. There is nothing wrong with that except that he is a gamer and a rake. Perhaps all he needs is the love of a good woman to show him a more righteous path.”

Cecilia bit her lip to keep from laughing. While she had no doubt that her sister was a good woman, she did not think Beatrice would ever be completely happy on a “righteous path” herself, no matter how one defined that vague phrase.

“What is a righteous path, anyway?” Beatrice asked, reading her sister’s thoughts. “Surely it is enough to hurt no one and be loyal to one’s family.”

“I do believe there are events in his past that call that loyalty into question,” Cecilia added with more timidity than she wished.

“What did happen? And how do I find out?” Finally Beatrice turned away from the painting and looked at her twin. “No one will tell me and that is simply ridiculous. You cannot make a decision without knowing all the facts.”

“Papa is trying to protect you, and Darwell will not gossip.” Both of those seemed reasonable explanations for their reticence.

“I asked Lady Olivia and she would not tell me, either.” With a sigh Beatrice went on, “I will have to ask him directly. Sometime.”

“But not tonight.”

Beatrice said nothing for a long moment.

“Ceci, I will drop the subject and not ask tonight, unless Lord Jess brings it up, if you do one thing for me.”

Cecilia did not like the sound of this bargain. Beatrice’s sly smile doubled her worry.

“I think you should be spending more time with Lord Destry.”

“That’s absurd, Beatrice.” Cecilia could not hide her exasperation. “I just spent the evening as his assistant. How much more friendly do you want me to be?” She did not dare admit that acting as his assistant had been “fun,” to use her sister’s favorite word.

“But you barely had any time to converse with each other.”

How wise was it of her to see more of Lord Destry? He made her forget to think about how she looked, or whether she was saying the right words. He made her feel nervous and excited, when she much preferred calm and collected.

“What is the point in knowing him better?” Immediately Cecilia regretted the question. She should have said “no” firmly. Now they were in for a discussion. In an effort to avoid a possible argument Cecilia decided to be blunt. “I do not want to be a duchess. I want a quiet life in the country with children and a husband who is both sensible and sensitive. Lord Destry is neither.”

“You told me the other night that you had misjudged him. Need I remind you that this is the man who said that children should be taught to love one another? What is that if not caring?”

So they were going to have a debate whether she wanted to or not. Cecilia hated debates because she always lost. “I have had a long day and do not want to end it with an argument.”

“Here is my idea,” Beatrice began, ignoring her sister’s complaint. “Listen and admit that it makes sense. It’s a compromise. We will find the gentlemen, who are most likely gaming, on the pretext of asking who is going to ride in the morning, just as I suggested last night. If they invite us to join them in the game room we will stay and observe for a few minutes. You do not have to make conversation, only keep me company.”

“Lord Destry will be riding. I do not need to ask. He goes out on Jupiter every morning.”

“Then come with me and don’t ask. I should not go alone in case there are no other ladies with them.”

Cecilia knew this was just another way for Beatrice to win exactly what she wanted.

“But I’m going whether you come or not,” Beatrice insisted. “It’s my turn to have some fun. And after all, we did agree that they could teach us how to game.”

If she wanted to avoid an argument, Cecilia knew she had no choice. “All right, but we must go back to our rooms first. I’m sure my hair needs some attention.” If she could retreat to their room and enlist Darwell for support, Cecilia was sure she could keep her sister from going.

“It looks fine, Ceci. Not a curl out of place. And yet I wager a guinea that if you come with me you will look in every mirror we pass.” Beatrice danced around her with a teasing smile.

“I’m not that vain,” Cecilia answered with affront. “I only want to look my best.”

Beatrice stopped moving but said nothing, only bending her head slightly, with a challenging look.

“Very well, but no wagering,” Cecilia said, rising. There was a mirror behind her and she was amazed how hard it was not to take a quick look.

“Come, let us ask the footman where the gentlemen are playing tonight.” Beatrice took her sister’s hand and Cecilia held on tight.

“What are a footman’s duties, do you suppose?” Beatrice asked, hoping to distract her sister.

“To help ladies and gentlemen up and down the stairs,” Cecilia answered promptly. “Or, yes, as you suggested, to tell visitors how to find certain rooms. But they must do more than that.” Cecilia thought a moment. “We could ask Darwell. She told me that Callan was a footman for years before he became a valet.”

“When did you talk to her about Callan?” She and Darwell never talked about anything personal.

“When she was doing my hair. She is a veritable font of information. I can’t decide if she likes talking about him or was trying to keep me from fretting about this evening.”

“Both, probably,” Beatrice said. “I think they are old friends, and perhaps more now.”

“Hmmm” was all Cecilia said, which made Beatrice suspect that her sister knew more than she was letting on. Had Darwell sworn her to secrecy? When?

“Bitsy, she told me that whenever Lord Jess wins he gives Callan a bonus.”

“No, really?” Beatrice wondered if Jess won often.

“Yes, Darwell told me that Callan says it more than makes up for the times when Lord Jess is short of funds and cannot pay him in a timely manner.”

And how often does that happen? Beatrice wondered. They reached the footman before she could ask her sister, but that was all right since it hardly mattered. It was not as if she and Jess were courting. A flirtation was all they could share—one that involved lots of kisses.

“Would you tell us where the card room is?” Beatrice asked the footman.

“Of course, Miss Brent. The gentlemen are playing in the smaller of the gaming salons on the third floor in the west wing.” He began to give them directions and then suggested he escort them instead.

After the fourth turn Cecilia began wringing her hands. “How will we find our way back?”

“We can always ask another footman, but I believe I can get us back safely. We have passed some remarkable works of art. There was a rather lovely oil by a painter I do not know—I must do a bit of research tomorrow. And here is a type of Gainsborough you do not see very often. We will have no trouble.”

Cecilia had not noticed the paintings, but she had counted two mirrors since they’d made their wager. And, yes, except for the wager, she would have looked at herself in each one to make certain that she was still presentable. The thought horrified her. It was as though she were addicted to her appearance or, at least, to making sure she looked as perfect as possible at all times.

The footman opened the door to what must be the small game room and Cecilia was sure they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. For one thing this “small room” was the size of their dining room at home and, even worse, judging by the tension in the room something awful must be afoot. Something of which she would rather not be a part.

The table where the players were gathered sat in a circle of light that left the rest of the room in deep shadow, making for an appearance of impropriety even if it was of the mildest sort. Lord Destry’s red scarf was loosened, as was his shirt, and Cecilia could see, even from this distance, that he’d had quite a bit to drink. She could tell by the way he slouched in his chair, and he was far less active than he usually was. This is exactly what I feared.

“It’s just the shadows,” Beatrice whispered. “They would make even you look dangerous.”

Cecilia noted that Bitsy herself stayed back and watched with her, waiting for the right moment to announce their presence. All she wanted to do was sneak out without being noticed, a thought that would never occur to her sister.

The gamers included Lord Crenshaw, Lord Jess, the marquis, the Earl of Belmont, and Mrs. Kendrick. Not one of them looked their way. All attention was focused on the hand in play. Only Lord Crenshaw and Lord Jessup were holding cards.

“Lord Jess looks particularly intense,” Beatrice whispered.

“Yes,” Cecilia breathed back, tearing her eyes away from the marquis. Lord Jessup usually stood back from the rest or was the last to enter a room. But not now. With even more concentration than the rest of them, Jess waited and watched his opponent.

With the play of one card, the entire table reacted. Destry with a whoop of excitement, Mrs. Kendrick with a whispered phrase, and Lord Jess with a smile of such malicious satisfaction it justified the angry expression Lord Crenshaw could not hide.

The elation was such a change of mood that it made Cecilia jump, and she pressed her hand to her mouth for fear she would let out a scream.

Lord Belmont broke the silence. “You’ve lost, Crenshaw. Well played, both of you,” he declared. “As hard as it is to believe, Crenshaw, you now owe Jess two thousand pounds.” Lord Belmont was, as usual, the voice of calm.

“Two thousand pounds,” Beatrice hissed, her mouth next to her sister’s ear. “That’s a fortune.”

Lord Jessup settled on a neutral, if satisfied expression, and Crenshaw seemed to rethink a tirade of words, settling for only two. “You bastard.”

“There is a lady present,” Lord Jessup reminded him.

Mrs. Kendrick nodded. “A lady who was married to a sailor for fifteen years. Your language is excused, my lord.”

“How do she and Belmont do that?” Beatrice asked. “They are so good at easing difficult situations.”

“Shh,” Cecilia responded. This was hardly the place for such analysis. She wanted desperately to leave.

“If you prefer,” Lord Jessup said silkily, “I will take the land that you won from me the last time we played for high stakes.”

“That played-out coal mine?” Crenshaw leaned back in his chair, raising it off its front two legs.

“Lord Crenshaw is acting as though he has the upper hand,” Beatrice said.

“Yes. Why? He lost.”

Lord Jessup must have realized he’d made a tactical error, for his satisfied expression was replaced with a try for casual indifference.

It almost worked.

Nothing about this exchange was casual. It frightened Cecilia enough that she wanted to close her eyes and cover her ears.

“I know it’s worth less than two thousand but it does have sentimental value,” Lord Jessup countered.

“I’m not sure I even own those paltry acres anymore.”

“You still cannot tell the truth, can you, Crenshaw?” Jess said as he stood up. “You own the mine and it is not played out. I have been keeping my eye on it. And on you. Watch your step, my lord.”

“Watch my step? You impertinent bastard!” Lord Crenshaw thundered, rising abruptly and sweeping cards and markers off the table as he leaned across to grab for Lord Jess’s cravat. “I swear I will beat you to a pulp if you interfere in my life again.”

“Take your hands off me.” Lord Jess stood perfectly still, his words and his eyes his only defense.

“This is horrible! Leave, we have to leave,” Cecilia insisted, so upset she forgot to whisper.

Beatrice nodded, but did not move.

“This is not some performance,” Cecilia began, furious with her sister, who she suspected was thrilled by the display.

“Gentlemen,” Lord Belmont began, and Cecilia turned back to listen, “and I remind you that you are both gentlemen, you are to end this now. Crenshaw, take your hands off Pennistan. And you—” He turned to Lord Jess. “You are the son of a duke. Do not discredit your family name.”

Taking a lesson from the earl, Cecilia turned to her sister and spoke in as forceful a whisper as she could summon up. “We are leaving now. We will not be an audience to this spectacle.”

Crenshaw let go of Lord Jessup, ran a hand through his hair, and did not answer at first. The others waited while he collected his temper and his scattered wits.

“For the love of God, Ceci, wait just a minute more. The ‘spectacle’ has calmed considerably,” Beatrice countered in a matter-of-fact refusal to budge.

Crenshaw ran his hand through his hair one more time and finally spoke. “I will arrange to have the funds transferred to your bank, my lord Jessup. I trust you will be willing to hold my voucher until that can be arranged.”

“As I recall you refused to hold mine when you won the land,” Lord Jess reminded him, informing everyone present of Crenshaw’s unsportsmanlike behavior. “But since this is turning out to be such a lovely house party, I would hate to compel you to leave early.” Lord Jess paused a moment and went on. “Of course I will hold your voucher, my lord baron.”

“Let’s leave, Beatrice. Please let’s leave,” Cecilia begged, well aware that she had reverted to her usual style, but at least she had grabbed Beatrice’s hand as she spoke. “I do not want to be involved in this.”

Crenshaw drank the dregs from the glass nearest him and stood, almost knocking over his chair in the process. “If you will excuse me. Mrs. Kendrick.” He bowed to her. “And gentlemen. I will go draft the letter to my man of business.”

He headed for the door, and at that moment the others looked up and caught sight of Cecilia and Beatrice hovering there.