One More Kiss

CHAPTER Twenty-seven





“I WILL HAVE time to practice, Jess. The race is not for two days.”

“You are insane, Des. I used to think you were adventurous but you have crossed the line.”

They were in the stable walking around Jupiter, who was obviously uncomfortable with the strange saddle strapped to his back.

“What I am is a pragmatist.” He gave Jupiter a piece of apple and stroked his mane, which went a long way toward making the horse more agreeable. “Listen. Once Cecilia wins this race, she will realize that she is indeed more than her lovely face. That she is my equal no matter what my title is. She will see that I want to make her my wife for all the right reasons.”

“You’re saddling yourself, pun intended,” Jess added, “with unrealistic expectations. It is one race. A race in which you will look like a fool.”

“Excellent! She will see that I am a man before I am a marquis and Cecilia Brent will look like a duchess. Definitely worth looking a fool.” Destry moved the mounting block closer and made his way to the different saddle.

“You might be able to adjust to this, but what about Jupiter?”

“Right, I’m more concerned about him. I talked to the head groom and he says that Jupiter will have to grow accustomed to the different distribution of weight. Since I do not weigh as much as most gentlemen it is not the problem it might be for someone like you.”

Jess considered. It would never be a problem for him, since there was no way in hell he would ever ride sidesaddle. He watched as Des dismounted, then mounted again and just sat for a few minutes. The horse shook his head once but settled soon enough.

In the end Destry managed to stay on the horse for the whole session, which consisted of riding at a slow walk around the ring and then out to the path, up to the house and back. Not even a canter. Who knew that Destry had patience tucked away in that compact body?

“Excellent!” Des joined Jess at the horse ring. “The groom tells me he will have one of his best and smallest grooms take Jupiter out this evening while we are at dinner. Then I will spend a few hours with him tomorrow morning and possibly afternoon as well.”

“It sounds Machiavellian to me, Des, but then why should that surprise me? You’re heir to the Bendas dukedom after all.”

“Yes, I do believe my grandfather would approve.” Destry looked up to the sky and appeared to be listening for the dead man’s endorsement.

The mention of his grandfather reminded Jess of the story he’d told Cecilia. Jess had no idea whether that had anything to do with the resolution of differences between them, even if building some sympathy had been his intention. Now he found himself wishing he had kept his mouth shut. The last thing Destry wanted from Cecilia Brent was sympathy.


“DARWELL, PLEASE DO not upset yourself,” Cecilia pleaded, handing the maid a handkerchief. Now that they all knew the truth about Crenshaw, Darwell was willing to openly voice her concerns for Miss Wilson. She had not succumbed to tears but Beatrice could see how distressed she was as she twisted the piece of cotton between her fingers.

“Something should be done to protect Miss Wilson,” Darwell went on. “In the normal course of events I would speak to her maid, but I know her and she will do nothing to jeopardize her position. She would as soon turn her back as listen.”

“You are not to lose sleep over this, Darwell,” Cecilia insisted. “Beatrice and I will devise a plan. You were right to tell us of your concerns.”

Beatrice had no ideas and doubted that Cecilia did, either, but she nodded bracingly. “I already have a plan, but it is growing time to dress for dinner, is it not?”

“Oh dear,” Darwell said, pressing her hands to her cheeks. “Tonight’s theme is quite unique and I want to be sure you two are dressed to perfection.”

When Darwell left for the dressing room to shake out their gowns, Cecilia whispered, “What happened to the maid who was so superior? Who told us what to do instead of the other way around?”

Beatrice had wondered the same. “I think it’s a testament to how much Crenshaw’s abuse hurt her as well. Even now, years later, it still upsets her.” Beatrice thought about what she had seen this afternoon but decided to respect Darwell’s privacy and not mention it to her sister. Besides, if she did tell Ceci what she had seen, then she would have to explain how she came to be in the gentlemen’s wing, and it was all much too complicated to go into right now. It was so much easier to worry about Darwell’s concerns than her own headaches. “Poor Darwell. I must think of a solution.” Beatrice sat on the sofa, pressing her lips together, eyes narrowed in concentration.

“We have to dress. At least pretend you are interested in what you’re wearing.”

“A dress is not important when I have so much on my mind,” Beatrice said.

“Bitsy, Darwell needs the distraction.”

“Yes, I know, but I think it would help as much if I could think of a way to convince her that Miss Wilson is not in any immediate danger.” Beatrice thought for a moment and realized that she herself was not quite convinced. “Should I go to the countess?”

“And tell her what, sister?” Cecilia asked with her usual practicality. “Lord Jessup asked you to keep his story a secret, and he is already viewed with suspicion by our godmother. Darwell cannot speak to the maid. It’s up to Lord Jess to solve the problem.”

“That’s easy to say, but what can he do? He is, after all, the one whom everyone blames for the incident.”

“Ladies,” Darwell called from the dressing room. “Come and look at these gowns and let me help you dress.”

“We are coming, Darwell,” Cecilia said agreeably with an insistent look at her sister.

“I will pretend,” Beatrice said with a resigned sigh. Dressing did prove a distraction after all.

“These gowns are better suited to a ball than to a country party dinner, Darwell.” Cecilia fingered the exquisite silk, a blue that Beatrice knew was one of her favorite colors, festooned with faux flowers the size of guineas in shades of blue fading to white. The floral trim ran around the neckline, down the sides, and along the edge of the flounces.

“I told you, tonight is special,” Darwell reminded her, “and is this not the most special of the gowns you have with you?”

“Yes, it is.” Cecilia began to smile. “What is Beatrice going to wear?”

Darwell held up another gown. It was a pale apricot color with gold and peach bead trim around the neck. The beading also circled the dress at the waist and was echoed between the knee and ankle, where Cecilia’s dress had ruffles.

“It’s perfect for you, Beatrice.”

“Yes, but I do wish I could wear ruffles.”

Darwell made a sound of frustration. “I’ve told you before that they do not suit someone of your size. It will have to be one of life’s disappointments, miss.”

Beatrice smiled and pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. A gown without ruffles was hardly one of life’s disappointments. No, not when she was attracted to the wrong man in everyone’s eyes but her own.

When they were ready to join the party, Cecilia looked at herself in the glass “one more time” and followed her sister and Darwell, who shepherded them downstairs to the large banquet hall, a space that could seat at least one hundred, maybe more.

The first thing Beatrice noticed was that Jess was at the end of the room that was farthest from the door, talking to Lord Belmont, Nora Kendrick, and Finch.

The four were standing in front of a small orchestra whose members were quietly tuning their instruments.

The conversation was animated and as Beatrice watched, trying to decipher some sense of what they were discussing, Jess looked up and caught her eye.

He bowed to her, but did not immediately end his conversation with the couple to come greet her. Not that she expected him to. Or even wanted him to. Quite the opposite, in fact. They were friends, not lovers, and friends did not abandon all to rush to the other’s side. In fact she would do her best to keep this much distance between them for the entire evening, if only because being close to him made her weak in the knees.

With a condescending nod, she raised her eyes from his and gasped. The orchestra was placed under a spectacular painting of Venice—or was it a mural?—that filled the wall from the wainscoting to within a foot of the ceiling.

How could she have missed that when she walked in? It was the only painting in the room. The other walls were windowed and the wall behind her was mostly filled with doors, three sets, with marble statues in between.

“Look at that painting, Ceci. I’ve never seen a Canaletto done on such a grand scale.”

Before Cecilia could comment, the countess came over to them. They curtsied to her.

“Tonight the grand salon is as much dining room as ballroom,” she announced, and for the first time Beatrice noticed that dinner tables were arranged around the floor of the ballroom.

“Yes, my lady, it is incredible,” Beatrice said.

“The flowers are spectacular,” Cecilia added with unfeigned enthusiasm. “One cannot tell the real blooms from the silk.”

“I know flowers are a favorite decoration of yours, Cecilia. And Beatrice, I knew you would not mind spending the evening near that magnificent painting.”

“How thoughtful of you, my lady, thank you.” Beatrice tore her eyes from the masterpiece to survey the rest of the room one more time, avoiding the group near the orchestra. “Am I correct in guessing that there will be other guests with us this evening?”

“Yes, fifty in all. Neighbors, for the most part. I like to invite friends to dinner at least once during a house party so that we do not succumb to boredom.”

Beatrice thought about the kiss she had shared with Jess. Boredom was not one of her worries.

Even as the countess explained the guest list, people began to filter into the room.

“Come, let me introduce you to some of my friends,” the countess said, taking Cecilia’s hand.

The countess led them to a couple whose two sons were attending with them. She introduced them before breaking away to greet another group of newly arrived guests.

Beatrice could see that the two young men were struck speechless by Cecilia’s beauty. While she waited for them to recover, she looked about and watched the arriving guests mingle, familiar faces mixed in with the new.

Lord Destry was easy to spot as he was wearing his signature red cravat, though everything else about his attire was perfection. He came up to the group and Beatrice took it upon herself to introduce him, thanking God that all of these guests had the same last name.

The gentleman, his wife, and their sons, all four, avoided looking at Lord Destry at first, as though his height made them uncomfortable, but once his title was revealed they overcame their hesitation and tried for convivial. They were not particularly successful.

Beatrice could see Cecilia’s smile become forced. For his part, Destry remained charming. Finally, during a lull in the conversation, Cecilia took Destry’s arm and suggested that they examine the flowers more closely.

With a grin of satisfaction, Destry bowed to the family and walked off with the prize of the evening. And incidentally left Beatrice alone without any means of escape.

No one said anything for too long and Beatrice realized that what they wanted to talk about most was her sister and Lord Destry. Beatrice pretended that Mrs. Kendrick was signaling to her and excused herself. She was not out of hearing when the younger son asked, “What does the beauty see in that midge?”

It took real effort not to turn back and heap equal insults on them, but indeed Mrs. Kendrick was signaling to her now and Beatrice wended her way through the small crowd to her side.

Around Finch’s neck Mrs. Kendrick had tied a red ribbon, which perfectly matched her garnet-colored gown and jewels. “Good evening, Beatrice. What an amazing surprise this is, is it not?”

“Yes, indeed.”

“Belmont insists he is the worst dancer in the house. But I imagine that if he has some wine with his dinner I can entice him to the dance floor.”

“I have no doubt of it.” Beatrice really liked this woman. She was so full of life and when she wanted something she did not keep it a secret. Did you have to wait to be a widow of means to act like that?

“Have you seen all our fellow houseguests?” Mrs. Kendrick asked.

“All but Lord Crenshaw and Katherine.”

“They are over by that statue. Some Greek god, I assume. The statue reminds me of Lord Jess. With a playful look but detached from the company.”

Beatrice wanted nothing more than to quiz Mrs. Kendrick about Jess but held her tongue, trying for an air of sophistication she was far from feeling.

“Surely Mr. Garrett and Lady Olivia will be joining us.”

“They were invited, and Mr. Garrett tells me that Lady Olivia has agreed to join us and allow the chef the rule of the kitchen this evening.” Mrs. Kendrick nodded toward the great doors. “Here they are now.”

The countess was welcoming Mr. Garrett while Lady Olivia looked around in awe.

“It’s a relief that even Lady Olivia is impressed by this display,” Mrs. Kendrick said. “She is a duke’s daughter and grew up in a castle, after all.”

Two older ladies approached them. Not bothering with introductions they launched into conversation, and began talking about how close they were to the lady of the house.

“The countess is unequaled as a hostess,” one said, her double chin shaking as she spoke. “Always trying something new.”

“You are so right, my dear,” the other said as the feather on her head kept time with her nod. They then proceeded to recount several other dinner parties they had attended and finished with an uncertain, “But I have never seen anything quite like the way she has placed tables and chairs right in the ballroom.”

The lady with the feather turned to Beatrice. “You are preparing for a London Season?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Then I hope you never have to attend the same soirées as that beauty who is with the gentleman with the red cravat.”

Before Beatrice could explain that she and the beauty were sisters, the other nodded. “This will be excellent practice for a ball. Never doubt for a minute that the countess has a reason for everything she does. Tonight I would imagine she wants to give you both a taste of the ballroom.”

“How very, very generous of her,” Beatrice said, while Mrs. Kendrick pressed her lips together. No rescue from that quarter.

“Generous, yes.” The double-chinned lady tapped Beatrice’s fingers with her fan. “But Jasmine always has self-interest lurking somewhere.”

Her friend was peering at the door when her expression changed. “Who is the gentleman that just this minute came into the room?”

Without another word, the two hurried away, making straight for the door and an introduction.

Beatrice followed their progress and turned back to Mrs. Kendrick, stunned. “It’s Papa.”