One More Kiss

CHAPTER Six





AS THE COUNTESS took Marquis Destry’s arm, Mr. Brent offered an arm to each of his daughters. Beatrice accepted, but felt compelled to whisper, “Papa, escorting us totally defeats the purpose of finding out who is interested in knowing Cecilia better. And I was looking forward to spending more time with Baron Crenshaw.”

He patted her hand. “There will be plenty of time, daughter. This way the gentlemen know that I will be alert to their behavior, even Crenshaw despite our recent association. The two of you are precious to me.”

Cecilia breathed “Oh, Papa” at this sweet declaration, and Beatrice herself was touched. This would be the first time that he had left them alone among strangers. It only now occurred to her that it might be difficult for him. She leaned her head on his arm and he gave her hand a little squeeze.

To her surprise, instead of turning into the house, and the dining room that could easily seat fifty, the countess led them through the garden and into a copse of trees that hid a summerhouse from view of the main residence.

This summerhouse was one large room decorated like a fairy bower. Made almost entirely of windows and doors, most of them left open to the gentle summer air, the supports between the windows looked like gnarled trees that bloomed into faux leaves painted on the ceiling. The room itself was lit with dozens of candles set in masses of moss with small vases of summer flowers scattered about, on the ledges of the windows and the mantel of a green, marble-fronted fireplace now filled with potted ferns. Beatrice thought it both fanciful and seductive.

The countess spoke in a loud voice until she had the attention of all her guests. “In the last century the third earl constructed a banqueting platform in one of the old lime trees. It actually had a staircase so one could easily reach the space and share a meal with the birds.”

There were gasps and sounds of amazement from her guests.

“Some time ago, a storm rendered it unsafe for more than one or two at a time, but the last earl and I had this room built to recreate the feeling of dining in nature.”

A table that could comfortably seat their party of ten was elegantly laid. A large branch of some flowering tree—which Beatrice was sure that Cecilia could name—ran the length of the table as the centerpiece. Very unconventional but in keeping with the theme. Small figurines, the tiniest of boys and girls—made from some type of clay, Beatrice supposed—were placed in various poses along the branch.

Every one of the countess’s guests, even Beatrice’s pragmatic father, expressed delight at the charmed setting, though Beatrice wondered if she was the only one who did not see how the food could arrive warm. They were a significant distance from the house and, perforce, the kitchen.

“How long before one of the gentlemen fiddles with those innocent-looking figures and puts them in a not-so-innocent pose?” Beatrice whispered to her sister as they waited to be seated.

Cecilia pressed her lips together for a moment. “Do be quiet, Beatrice.” Cecilia turned to their father. “Papa, wasn’t it clever of the countess to contrive this gem and also to give us all a topic of conversation?”

“Yes, it was,” Beatrice answered for him. “I was just asking Cecilia”—Ceci stepped on her foot, and despite the flash of pain, Beatrice ignored the warning and kept on talking—“what she thought the table fairies were made of. Do you think spun sugar or clay?”

“It hardly matters, does it?” Papa looked impressed. “The countess is an amazingly talented woman, a veritable magician, is she not? Excuse me, girls. I want to tell her how lovely this is.” He did not wait for an answer but made his way to the countess’s side.

Cecilia and Beatrice looked at each other in some confusion. Papa so rarely was effusive in his praise. “Of course, he is so very grateful to the countess for her kindness to us,” Ceci offered.

“That’s one explanation” was as close to agreement as Beatrice would allow.

The table seating was not as random as the progress to the summerhouse had been. The countess had Lord Destry to her right, but instead of the Earl of Belmont on her left, as was proper etiquette, she had given that seat to Mr. Brent.

Lord Belmont sat at the foot of the table with Miss Wilson on his left, taking the place of honor her mother would have been given if she had not been ill. That change led to Beatrice’s being seated next to Lord Jess. Beatrice was delighted with this seating arrangement before recalling that he had snubbed her not twenty minutes ago.

Mrs. Kendrick was seated on the other side of Lord Jess. Across from her and next to Miss Wilson were Lord Crenshaw and then Cecilia, which put her twin between Lord Crenshaw and the marquis, Lord Destry.

Beatrice watched her sister. The marquis was an unknown, but Lord Crenshaw was an acquaintance of a year’s standing. Beatrice was sure Cecilia was nervous but equally certain that her sister was well prepared for this modest challenge.

Before she could turn to the Earl of Belmont, Lord Jess bent to her. “Miss Brent, do you see that one of the little people on the branch is wearing spectacles?”

Beatrice looked in the direction he indicated and saw that he was not teasing. Next to the miniature in spectacles was another little person holding a dog and talking to a gentleman wearing a red kerchief.

“Why, she has each one of us represented. I wonder where Ceci and Papa are?” She looked up and down the table as the other members of the party made the same delighted discovery.

“After dinner, the fairies will be moved to the mantel in the Square Salon, where we will meet later so that you can admire them. Please feel free to take your fairy as a favor and a reminder of this party.” The countess’s face showed how much pleasure she took in this scheme.

Lord Jess leaned over and touched the figure with the spectacles. “I imagine some of us might like to have someone else’s fairy as a token.”

Beatrice shook her head and then said exactly what she was thinking. “Not an hour ago you all but gave me the cut direct and now you seek to charm. Why?”

“I saw how much Lord Crenshaw values you and I decided that I should not abandon a chance to know you better.”

What did that mean? Beatrice wondered. She was sure the two had no use for each other. Her first thought was that she did not wish to be a bone they fought over like two dogs, then almost as quickly she decided it might be interesting to be in the middle. It would certainly be good preparation for London.

“My answer is as honest as your question,” Lord Jess insisted.

“You will excuse me if I will now wonder which Lord Jessup Pennistan I am seated next to. The one who charms or the one who challenges.”

He laughed at her asperity, which made her blush. Did he think she was flirting? Or did he just never take anything seriously?

She gave him her back and turned her attention to the earl. “Your fairy is easy to identify. That shock of white hair is as unique as it is distinguished. But why is his chin in his hand in such a contemplative pose?”

The earl laughed quietly. “The countess is a clever woman. But I do wonder who fashioned these. A doll maker, perhaps?”

“We could ask her after dinner.”

“Where’s the fun in that, Miss Brent? I should rather investigate and work it out ourselves, then ask the countess if we are right.”

That was a little odd, Beatrice thought, and moved to change the subject. “Tell me, my lord, what are your interests beyond Parliament and your estates?”

“Can you not guess? I love a puzzle, a riddle, even deciphering codes. If there is a mystery to be solved, I’m the one for the job.”

“So your figure is mulling over some conundrum as you sit on the branch.” It explained his inclination to seek out the answer rather than ask. He was not like any gentleman she had ever met, but then she had never met an earl before. He was, most likely, unique among his peers as well. What fun it would be to come to know him better.

“I do believe the Belmont on the branch has solved a puzzle and is ready for a new one.”

“Truly? Here is a conundrum for you.” Beatrice began to explain what she called “the mystery of the false Rembrandts.”

The earl looked sincerely interested and Beatrice did not even think of Lord Jess for the next little while.


CECILIA COULD NOT believe she was seated next to Marquis Destry. At least Lord Crenshaw was known to her, but the rule of table etiquette meant she would have to speak with both of them for an equal amount of time.

She would be so much more comfortable where Mrs. Kendrick was sitting, between her father and Lord Jessup Pennistan. Lord Jess might be unacceptable to her father but he had been kind when she met him earlier in the evening and not nearly as intimidating as a man who was heir to a dukedom.

Cecilia held her hands tightly in her lap and waited for the footman to serve the first course. Her fairy looked back at her, seated on an elegant chair surrounded by flowers but otherwise unremarkable.

Was she the only one who had no distinguishing characteristic? How awful. She examined the miniatures more closely. The baron’s figure was coatless with his fists raised, ready to fight anyone who might round the branch, and Lord Destry wore his signature red kerchief.

“The countess has the right of it with you, Miss Brent.” Lord Crenshaw nodded toward the figure.

“Do you think so?” She did not mean to sound coy but was curious about what his interpretation might be.

“But of course. You are seated on a throne, queen of all you survey.”

“Oh, my goodness. That cannot be.” She looked from the baron to the marquis, making an effort to include him in her conversation with Lord Crenshaw. “Surely our hostess is queen of this realm.”

“I imagine you could interpret Miss Brent’s figure in a number of ways,” Lord Destry said. “It could be—”

“There is no doubt of your representation, Destry,” Lord Crenshaw interrupted. “Your figure is the smallest on the table. We might have overlooked it were it not for the red scarf you use to call attention to yourself.”

Lord Destry ignored the comment and continued to speak. “It could be that a woman of Miss Brent’s obvious refinement needs no more entertainment than to sit and observe the world pass by. Look, even the flowers gather around her.”

“I do love the garden and spend as much time there as I can. Perhaps that is the symbolism the countess intended.”

“The flowers are only a frame for your beauty,” Lord Crenshaw added.

“I think the flowers rest at your feet in homage,” said the marquis.

Was this a contest to see which one of them could embarrass her the most? “One thing I observe,” Cecilia tried, desperate to turn the conversation away from her avatar, “is that we will be served in the Russian style this evening.”

“Ah, yes,” Lord Crenshaw said, “the centerpiece would hardly allow for the placement of the French service.”

“I prefer the Russian,” Destry added. “The food is usually warm and you have more to choose from than the few dishes arranged in front of you in the French service.”

“Yes,” Cecilia agreed, “but with the Russian service I am always tempted by every dish offered and end up with enough food for a glutton.”

“Miss Brent,” Lord Destry began, “I suspect that there is not an unkind bone in your body if you are even afraid of offending the food that is offered you.”

At a word from the countess the marquis turned to her, leaving Cecilia to wonder if what he’d said was a snub or a compliment. She blushed. She might wish it was a compliment but could not doubt it was a snub.