One More Kiss

CHAPTER Twenty-three





JESS WALKED OVER to the corner of the bookshelf devoted to spirits. He set the wine aside and poured a brandy.

“Pour me one, if you will, Jess.” Michael took off his spectacles and rubbed his eyes. “I imagine that story is not easy to recount no matter how many times you tell it.”

Jess took a fortifying drink. “It was a cruel thing to do to such a sweet woman.”

Michael was cleaning his lenses but stopped. “Are you speaking of Annie or Miss Brent?”

Jess half shook his head, struck by the question. “I was speaking of Annie but the same can be said of Miss Brent. It has darkened her heart a little. Imagine someone of her gentle upbringing wishing a man dead.” He drank some of the brandy. “Even though I know this was all Crenshaw’s doing, talking about it makes me feel as tainted as he is.”

“Stop right there.” Michael set down his spectacles and stood up. “There is no god in the pantheon that would call you tainted.”

“The pantheon, Michael? Are you turning heretic?”

“No, not at all.” He did not smile at the teasing; his face remained serious, a rare expression for him. “I know your beliefs do not incline you to the god I represent. So just in case Zeus or Yahweh speaks to you more clearly, I include them, too.”

“The god of gamers, perhaps.” Jess finished off the last of his brandy and went to put the glass back on the table. It was a good excuse to turn away from Garrett’s searching eyes.

“The Roman god of gamers is a goddess. Fortuna it is for you.”

Did the man know everything? “It hardly matters whether any god thinks I am good or evil. It’s true that the people most important to me know why Annie needed a divorce. But beyond that I am not much better than Crenshaw. I would never physically harm a woman but I have won fortunes from their husbands and left them with nothing but worry and ruin.”

“And what brings on this confession?”

Jess shrugged. He thought of Beatrice Brent and how ill-suited he and she were. How powerless they were to stay away from each other.

“Beatrice Brent is quite delightful.”

Garrett seemed to be reading his mind.

“Did you see how much she wanted to comfort you, Jess? She could hardly stand to see you so upset. You are a hero to her now, you know.”

“Yes, compassion fairly radiated from her. That was not what I intended at all.”

“If only I had a shilling for every man, woman, and child who said that to me,” Michael said, running his hand around the back of his neck as if an ache was starting there. “And as I say to each of them, what we intend is one thing. The consequences are not in our control.”

“Damn little is,” Jess admitted. He wanted more brandy but denied himself just to prove he had some control somewhere.

“You just said that the people who are most important to you knew the truth about Annie’s divorce and that’s all that matters to you.”

Jess nodded.

“Clearly, Beatrice Brent is now one of those people.”

Jess looked stunned at the obvious. “She is not falling in love with me, is she?”

Michael laughed, so sincerely that it took him a minute to control himself. “I have no idea, but the real question is whether you are falling in love with her.”

“My life is satisfying as it is. I am not going to complicate it with a chit who is endlessly curious and discontented with anything but the truth. The whole truth.” He knew he was warning himself as much as Garrett. Yes, he was wildly attracted to her, but he had enough experience to control his baser urges, and even hers, if necessary.

“Yes, her curiosity could be a trial if it were not offset by the joys of that curiosity in other parts of your life.”

It was Jess’s turn to laugh. “You sound like the madam in a whorehouse trying to convince me to bed an ugly girl.”

Garrett waved away the analogy. “Believe me, the love of a good woman can change your life. I know.”

“Yes, I know you know, Michael. But I do not want to change my life.”

“Yes, I see that,” Michael acknowledged. “How did you ever happen on a life of pleasure for its own sake?” he asked bluntly. “I came on the scene long after that was in play.”

“I have no special skills. That was obvious early. Not like the rest of the family. David went into the navy at fifteen and seemed set on a career there. Gabriel became a man of science before he was ten. Even Olivia discovered her love of cooking at an early age, and God knows Lynford behaved like a duke before he was breeched.”

“No such clear calling for you, eh? That’s something I can understand. You know how far and fast I ran from the priesthood. Odd, that. It eventually caught up with me and here I am.”

“And here I am as well. I am good at gaming and even better at whoring. One could say that I am true to the Pennistan idea that one pursues what one excels in.”

“I grant you the gaming, Jess. But no one ever hears about your women.”

“They call it discretion, Michael. And some charm. I have both. I will not bore you with the details of my conquests. They, in fact, all bore me eventually. Except for the two women whose amazing agility kept me entertained for days.”

Michael smiled and shook his head. “You are not going to shock me. I could tell you about a French whore who would have sex with her clients behind a transparent screen so that the men who were waiting would be ready for her.”

Jess laughed.

“But this is not a contest, Jess, over which of us has lived a more dissolute life. You would undoubtedly win, I grant you that. But is it not time for a change? To turn your life in a new direction?”

“Spare me the sermon.”

“All right, but I will have you consider this one fact. David left the navy and found a new place among the mill owners in Birmingham. Gabriel now works closely with an artist developing a form of instruction for physicians and biologists. Olivia is now more a mother than a cook. I grant you Lynford is every bit a duke, but softened by his marriage.”

“And your point is?”

“The point is that they all took one road and found another that suited them once they matured. Could that not be in the cards,” he smiled at the pun and continued, “in the cards for you?”

“And Beatrice Brent is the key?”

Garrett laughed. “That would be too easy. Let’s call her a signal that change is possible. I am looking beyond this house party. You have a whole life to live, more than one day at a time one would hope.”

“Is this how you convert people from a life of sin? By nagging them into surrender?”

“I’m not speaking as a priest, but as a happily married man who would wish the same for you.”

“Again, spare me,” Jess said, suddenly annoyed with Garrett’s endless equanimity and supposed wisdom.

“Very well.” With a cordial nod, Garrett made his way to the bedchamber door. He paused to share one more thought. “Live in the moment for as long as you can stand it, Jess. And since we are both in this moment and since Beatrice Brent is here with us as well, let me warn you that if you are truly not interested in her, you must come up with a way to discourage her. And you had better not break her heart in the process. That carries a burden of guilt I would not wish on any man.”


“DEAR HEAVEN, BEATRICE, you are telling me the truth, aren’t you?” Cecilia waved away the question. “Of course you are.” Cecilia had put her face in her hands but Beatrice could still make out the words. She stayed that way awhile. Beatrice knew her sister was envisioning the misery Annie must have endured.

Cecilia had forgone a morning ride for what Beatrice decided were obvious reasons, though she wondered if Lord Destry had felt well enough to go out anyway. Beatrice could not imagine anything more uncomfortable than thumping up and down on horseback in time with a headache from too much wine or brandy or whatever he had been drinking to excess.

Beatrice waited, and finally Cecilia looked up. Tears glistened in her eyes but she managed not to give in to them.

“The poor woman. To be surrounded by servants with no one to turn to.”

Cecilia’s mood had been much improved by a good night’s sleep. Beatrice had sent Darwell on some trivial errand, telling her they wished to linger over their chocolate before dressing. As soon as they were alone Beatrice told her sister the story she had learned the night before. It did the job of changing Cecilia’s sensibility from ill-tempered to profoundly sympathetic.

“Bitsy, what a horror. It makes Darwell a veritable heroine for staying on to care for her with no rescue in sight.”

They sat in silence, sipping chocolate, until finally Cecilia asked.

“How will we act around Lord Crenshaw now that we know?”

“We cannot act any different.”

“But why not shun the man? It is no less than he deserves.”

“Because Lord Jess trusted me enough to tell me a story very few know and does, perforce, trust me to be discreet as well. I admit I am not sure I am practiced enough in society’s niceties to carry it off, but like everything else here, this will be good practice.”

“Very well, we are to tell no one and act as if nothing has changed.” Cecilia stopped stirring the chocolate and dropped the spoon on the tray.

“Can you imagine what would happen if Mrs. Wilson heard the story? She loves to be the first to spread any sort of gossip.”

Ceci gasped. “Lord Crenshaw has been paying attention to both you and Miss Wilson, Bitsy. What if he asks to court her?”

“Oh, Ceci, stop looking for trouble. It finds us easily enough.” Beatrice took a small bite of one of the breakfast rolls. It was another bit of perfection from Lady Olivia’s kitchen.

“Isn’t it amazing that something as basic as bread would respond so well to genius?” she said, distracted by the treat.

Cecilia took a bit of the roll and dipped it in the now cool chocolate, nibbled it, and nodded at Beatrice. “The chocolate is rather good this way. It helps that the roll has just a little sugar in it. Chocolate and cake are an interesting combination. I wonder if Olivia has ever considered putting the two together.” Cecilia took one more taste and her smile faded. “I just hope I am a good enough actress.”

“Nonsense, Ceci, you do not have to act. Just be the lady you always are.”

Cecilia brushed some crumbs from her night robe while she considered what her sister said.

“Treat Lord Crenshaw the same way you would treat Lord Jess, the earl, and Lord Destry.” As soon as Beatrice said the marquis’s name she wished she had not.

“Destry! I will be every bit a lady to him, even if he is a stupid man who had too much to drink.”

“Bravo for you, Ceci.” Jess was right. Her sister, who could not imagine herself a duchess, had the air naturally. “Lord Jess is arranging for the rabbit race today. It is to be held around four on the lawn that slopes to the ha-ha on the west side of the house. The sun, if it decides to come out and play, will make it a lovely spot.”

“Oh, I have the perfect dress for that. It’s the palest green, edged in flowers. Darwell took it to be pressed. I want to look so beautiful it will make Lord Destry weep.”