One More Kiss

CHAPTER Thirty-nine





BEATRICE STOOD AT the window, watching the drive, feeling sorry for herself. There really was no other way to describe her mood.

What a dismal end to what had started as a fabulous adventure.

Papa was not speaking to her. Cecilia had been moved to another room so that Beatrice could not even have the comfort of her support. Even Darwell had abandoned her, off to find their trunks so she could begin packing for their return to Birmingham.

Beatrice’s bedchamber felt like prison, most likely what her father intended. Would Jess have to leave before she was allowed out of her room? What would it take for her father to reconsider his punishment?

The answer came in the form of a horse and rider ambling up the drive. There was a flat case perched on the back of the horse. That alone would identify the rider as Roger Tremaine. She pushed open the window and leaned out, not caring that she looked like a housemaid about to shake out a dust rag.

“Roger! Roger!” she called out, waving madly. “How wonderful to see you.”

He looked around, behind, and finally up, and returned her wave with a simple, much less enthusiastic gesture. That was Roger, always calm and ordered. Beatrice knew he was as thrilled to see her as she was to see him.

It took all of fifteen minutes to send one of the footmen for her father. The countess came with him and Beatrice was sure it was entirely due to her presence that her father allowed her to welcome Roger.

Beatrice reached the hall just as her friend entered it. She threw her arms around his neck, certain that he was the exact medicine she needed right now.

“Beatrice! Do behave.” Despite the snub, he hugged her back and then held her at arm’s length.

“Let’s go for a walk, please,” she said with such urgency she knew he would realize it was important for them to talk.

“Yes, let’s walk. It’s exactly what I need after hours in the saddle. Shall I take time to freshen up or is it so urgent that you can tolerate the smell of horse?”

“No need to freshen up for me,” she said with a forced gaiety, suddenly realizing that the footmen were silent but very much present.

Roger took her arm and with a word to the porter about his bags they were out the door again. They walked in silence at first, Beatrice finding comfort in his very presence.

There was a bench under a tree within sight of the drive so it was a perfectly acceptable place for an un-chaperoned couple to sit. It had the added benefit of being in the shade, which she hoped would give them some relief from the heavy heat of the day.

“Roger,” Beatrice began without preamble. “I am in such trouble. Really. Father is furious with me and he will not even let Cecilia talk to me. It’s as though he has disowned me.”

The ache in her heart eased a little when Roger took her hand. She leaned against his shoulder. She could feel his heart beating steadily. That’s what Roger was. Steady as a sheltered flame. She knew that she would find that steadiness monumentally boring in a mate, but right now it was exactly what she needed.

“You know he will see reason, Beatrice.”

“I have not even told you what I did.”

“It does not matter what you did. He is your father and he loves you.”

His confidence bolstered hers a little. But she wanted an informed opinion, not a sentimental one. “He says I ruined Ceci’s chance at a successful Season.”

“Nothing is going to compromise Cecilia’s Season, for reasons too often recounted for me to repeat.” He patted her hand. “But, my dear girl, you are to have a Season as well, find a match, and enjoy every art gallery in town.”

“You know it was always more important to Cecilia than it was to me.”

“What else is there, Beatrice?”

“So much it will take awhile to explain.” Beatrice drew a breath and recounted the details relevant to her confession of spending time alone with Jess.

“So the earl is certain Lord Crenshaw’s death was an accident?”

“Yes.” Beatrice thought for a moment about how to phrase the next. “There was a witness who wishes to remain unnamed but before any of that came to light, Lord Jess was a prime suspect. So I had to tell everyone that we were alone together, for almost an hour. And you know how Papa feels about Jessup Pennistan.”

Roger pursed his lips and nodded. “Yes, and your father would see it as a deliberate effort on your part to disobey him.” He leaned away so he could see her face. “Was it something more?”

She looked down and nodded. “It was for me. It still is.”

“But not for Lord Jessup?” Roger said with the tiniest edge to his voice.

“Yes. No. I’m not sure, but I think so. Roger,” she said, turning to him so he could see how serious she was. “Despite his reputation, Jess is very much a gentleman. I know that in my heart. I have seen him at his best.” And his worst. But she kept that to herself.

“Then you will wait and see what he and your father decide.”

That was not comforting. Not at all. “I will not marry someone who offers because my father insists. I cannot imagine anything more humiliating.”

“Then you will spend the rest of your life in Birmingham, in your father’s house. But we will always be friends, Beatrice. No matter what happens.”

“Thank you, Roger.” She put her head on his shoulder again. Beatrice wished his heart would beat a little faster when she was near or her heart would give that little leap the way it did when she saw Jess. But it never would.

Roger had been right. They were friends, dear and good friends, and would never be anything more. Or less.


JESS WATCHED THE cozy scene from the window of the room where he was waiting for the countess.

Who was that man with Beatrice? Roger Tremaine, the name swam up from his memory. A good friend, she had said. He could see that. How good a friend exactly, he wondered.

He was so engrossed in trying to decipher what they were discussing that he did not hear the countess come into the room.

“Good day, Jess.”

He turned around, feeling caught out like a schoolboy. The countess came to the window anyway.

“What are you looking at?” She followed the line of his gaze. “I see,” the countess said. “It’s not what you’re looking at but whom.”

“Beatrice is talking with her friend Roger Tremaine.”

“A fine young man,” the countess said. “His father is General Tremaine, one of the heroes of the Battle of Corunna. Of course he was only a captain then.”

What was Tremaine’s connection to the family? Oh yes—he was not in the army at all, but he worked for Mr. Brent. Not that it mattered to Jess.

God help him, he couldn’t even lie convincingly to himself anymore. Of course it mattered. He didn’t want anyone closer to Beatrice than he was. If this was love then it was a damn painful state.

The countess’s quick glance from the corner of her eye told him she had the same thought. “He works for, or perhaps I should say he works with, Mr. Brent. He designs machines and machine parts for Mr. Brent’s mills.”

“Yes, I do recall. She introduced me to him that first night.” Which now seemed about a hundred years ago. “The only thing he has designs on right now is Beatrice.”

The countess laughed and pulled him away from the window. “They are friends, Jess. They could have been well on the road to marriage long ago if either of them wanted it.”

The countess took a seat in front of a desk that was laden with objets d’art and not a single ledger or book. Jess leaned against the edge of the desk, too restless to sit down himself.

“It’s time for you to decide what you are going to do about this mess with Beatrice, Jess.”

He stiffened, even though he’d known that was what the countess had on her mind. “I am not a schoolboy who needs to be led through the moves on a chessboard.”

“This is not a game, Jessup Pennistan.” The sternness in her voice was resoundingly maternal. “You have compromised a young woman’s reputation.”

“Yes, yes, I have, to my great and lifelong regret.”

“Though I can guess it was a mutual effort.”

Jess could not believe those words had come out of the lady’s mouth.

“Beatrice’s curiosity about life, and now love, is the bane of her father’s existence. He might be more understanding of your situation than you think. He told me once that he found Beatrice attempting to run one of the devices at his first mill. It fouled the machine for hours and she nearly lost her hand, all because she was curious about how it worked.”

“I am going to offer for her.”

The countess closed her eyes and shook her head. “Of course you are. The girl deserves at least that show of respect.”

“We agree on that, my lady. I am going to find her father now.”

The countess stood up and made for the door. “Love makes fools of us all. For men like you, being a fool comes with serious complications.”

Her words hung in the room even after she left. Jess was going to find Brent as soon as he pulled his thoughts together, as soon as he found a way to word his offer as the apology it was.