One More Kiss

CHAPTER Eight





WILLIAM, YOU IDIOT, he shouted to himself. He tried to find a way to apologize for his affront, a completely unintended one. His words were aimed at men like Crenshaw and women like Mrs. Wilson. Sweet, too-cautious Miss Cecilia Brent was only trying to fit into this new circle. Besides, her looks guaranteed that she could eat her peas with a knife dipped in gravy and still be welcomed anywhere.

“I did not mean to insult you, Miss Brent,” he said anxiously. Her eyes were fixed on Crenshaw even though the man was fully engaged in conversation with Miss Wilson, but he knew she could not turn her ears off and must hear him. “I am well aware that you are a newcomer and hope to find a place in the ton this Season. I only wanted to help.”

She glanced back at him. “Thank you, my lord.” She spoke stiffly, as if good manners were an innate part of her, but her eyes shimmered with tears.

He spoke quickly, so that he would be talking to her face and not the back of her head, though even that managed to be as beautiful as the rest of her.

“The fact is that you have complete control of this gathering.”

When she gave him that not-quite-convinced half nod she had used before, he went on. “Yes, even though you are the least experienced in the ways of the ton.”

He read skepticism mixed with a good bit of hurt still lingering in her eyes. He hurried on.

“Observe, if you please. When you turn from me, Lord Crenshaw must perforce abandon Miss Wilson to speak with you. Belmont will turn from whatever puzzle your sister has presented him with to speak with the much more ingenuous Miss Wilson, so she is not left alone with her soup.

“Of course, Lord Jess will have to entertain your sister with the more genteel of his gaming tales, and Mrs. Kendrick, who has been laughing at the more risqué of them, will don her lady’s airs and talk to your father. The countess will sigh in disappointment at the interruption and speak with me. There, you see? It is all in your control. Shall we test it?”

With a slight, cold smile of agreement, she turned from him. He was worse than an idiot. His title was the only thing that kept him in such good company. William pushed aside all hope of something as ludicrous as a shared love with Miss Brent. What a fantasy, you undersized moron.

William turned to the countess, who patted Mr. Brent’s hand as she turned away. Destry noted the personal touch and wondered, but kept his polite gaze focused on the countess as he asked, “Who will be arriving later in the week, my lady?”


“IT WAS EXACTLY as he said, Bitsy. When I turned away from him, Lord Crenshaw turned to me and the entire party changed partners as if it were a dance and I had called a new step.”

The two sisters stood a little apart from the other ladies as they waited for the gentlemen to join them. Miss Wilson played the pianoforte with quiet precision while the countess and Mrs. Kendrick fussed over Mrs. Kendrick’s dog.

“I assume that’s the way all dinner parties are, Ceci. Tell me, why were you so offended by his behavior?”

“He uses his understanding of people to amuse himself. No one is ever pretty enough or charming enough to be spared his snubs. I am not the slightest bit interested in knowing him better.”

Beatrice wondered what the gentlemen were discussing over their port. For the love of God, if Cecilia was right they would both be the prefect targets for his insults. But the marquis did not seem that sort of person at all. She wanted to find a quiet corner and think this through.

“Why can’t he be more like Lord Crenshaw? He does his best to make us feel as though we are as welcome as anyone with a title.”

Beatrice shrugged, afraid that any answer would only upset her overwrought sister more. This was why she liked studying paintings so much. They could not talk back or insist on their own interpretation. She was relieved when the door opened and the gentlemen joined them.

Soon after, the tea arrived and the countess asked Mrs. Kendrick to pour while she invited everyone to take a cup and listen to her ideas for entertainment.

“I have an activity planned and I invite all of you to participate as you wish.” The countess waited a beat.

Her guests nodded.

“I would like each one of you to tell us about what you enjoy most. You may demonstrate a talent, give us a lecture, or teach us a skill.”

Beatrice leaned closer to Cecilia and whispered, “Aren’t we lucky that the countess warned us of this in advance?”

Cecilia nodded with some force. “Yes. Look at Miss Wilson, she is as terrified as I was at first. Even the Earl of Belmont looks uncertain.”

“Your idea is perfect, Ceci, asking each guest to bring you a plant to identify.”

“Now I only have to decide what the prize will be if I am bested.”

“You won’t be.” Beatrice’s confidence was sincere. “No lady knows plants half as well as you do.”

“Ah,” said the countess. “I see a mix of enthusiasm and dismay.”

“I must reassure Miss Wilson. She does play quite beautifully.” Beatrice left her sister and made her way to where Miss Wilson sat near Lord Crenshaw.

“Come, Lord Jess,” the countess urged. “We would all like a lesson in billiards or perhaps on the finer points of vingt-et-un.”

Everyone looked about for Jess Pennistan. Beatrice knew exactly where he was, standing near the door, something stronger than tea in his hand, watching the gathering but not really a part of it.

Lord Jess came forward, a lazy smile in place as he bowed to his hostess. “As you wish, my lady. I was thinking of challenging everyone to race rabbits. I am sure I can come up with an appropriate prize.”

The company laughed.

“Even better, my lord,” the countess said, “perhaps playing in twos would mean less of a drain on the rabbit population.”

“Perhaps two teams only. Men against women?” He looked at the ladies with an expression that implied they were not up to the challenge.

“You’re on, my lord,” Mrs. Kendrick called out in such a strong voice that her dog barked at the upset. She calmed her pet and then added, “Of course, no lady or gentleman should be required to participate.”

“Soon we will have enough rules to rival those that overwhelm a bill in Parliament,” Crenshaw grumbled.

“In which case I want to assure you that rain or shine we will not lack for entertainment,” the countess said. “Now, please, enjoy your tea and each other.”

The gathering dissolved into smaller conversational groups and Miss Wilson turned to Beatrice.

“But what will I do about the lecture?” she all but wailed. She looked from Lord Crenshaw to Beatrice as if she had no skills or talents whatsoever.

“You will play your favorite piano piece and tell us about the composer,” Beatrice suggested.

“An excellent idea, Miss Beatrice. You are brilliant.” Lord Crenshaw beamed his approval and Beatrice shrugged, uncomfortable with the extravagant praise.

“I could do that quite easily.” Miss Wilson’s voice was no longer panicked, her whole demeanor much more relaxed.

“Or you could make a game of it,” Beatrice suggested, “and play pieces and ask who the composer is. That puts the burden on the audience and not on you.”

Miss Wilson glanced at Lord Crenshaw, who nodded thoughtfully. “A clever suggestion, but you do not want to tax your audience. Or embarrass them.”

“Yes, I suppose you are right, but it would be a great game.”

“Well, you could play a piece, then talk about the composer a little. After that you could ask the others to name the composer, making it a game of sorts.”

“Miss Brent, does that brain of yours ever stop working?” Lord Crenshaw asked. Beatrice was sure he meant that as a compliment but she could not quite control the blush of embarrassment.

“Now, now, dear girl,” Crenshaw said, taking her arm, “do not be upset. It is not at all what I intended.”

“Thank you, my lord,” she said with some relief, and withdrew her arm from his. “I do think that Lord Belmont is waiting to speak to you,” she added, for the earl was bearing down on them with an eye on Crenshaw.

“Miss Wilson.” Beatrice drew her aside. “Let’s collect Cecilia and discuss what pieces you should consider playing.”

“Please do call me Katherine,” Miss Wilson urged. “I would so value you as a friend.”

Beatrice smiled and returned the compliment. This was going to be as much fun as she had hoped it would be.

* * *

JESS WATCHED BEATRICE Brent tend to both her sister and Miss Wilson.

“And what are your further observations on the Brent sisters, Jess?”

Destry had stepped up onto the hearth, which brought his height close enough to Jess’s ear that their conversation would be between them alone.

Jess didn’t hesitate. “It looks as though Crenshaw is trying to curry favor. And Miss Brent seems politely interested. I cannot decide if that is a good or a bad sign. Is she just being coy or is she angling for a closer connection?”

“So that’s the direction of your thoughts.” Destry took a quick look at the three young women.

“I am wondering if I should undermine his possible courtship.”

“Ever the defender.”

“Not a hardship when defense means a flirtation with someone as tantalizing as Beatrice Brent.”

“Tantalizing? Oho, so you are interested.”

Jess wished he had chosen a less revealing term. But it was true, Beatrice Brent was as tantalizing as champagne.

“No,” he said with his best blank expression, trying to climb out of the hole he had dug for himself. “She has no need of my help in any form. Look at her. Miss Beatrice Brent is a woman with strong opinions and protective instincts.”

“How do you know her so well?”

“I don’t at all, but at dinner she went on and on about Rembrandt’s genius and when not talking about that she was looking down at your end of the table. She went immediately to her sister’s side as they were leaving the dining room.”

“The countess told me their mother died just a year ago; perhaps Miss Beatrice Brent has taken on a more maternal role with her sister. They do seem very close,” Destry said, his eyes on the young ladies.

After a long pause, during which they both watched the three young women, who were also being studied by Crenshaw, Destry asked, “Why did you not challenge him to a duel all those years ago?”

“Because my brother insisted that Crenshaw’s lack of honor would not guarantee a fair fight.”

“So he remains loose to find a woman easily wooed and led to the altar.” Destry’s words were edged with disgust.

“Yes, I know. But I have played the savior before and once was entirely enough for this lifetime.”

“Admit it, Jess, you would never let it happen again.”

“Damn it, Destry, stop playing at being my conscience. You go save someone.”

“I think I just might.”

With that, Lord Destry hopped down from the hearth and sought out the three ladies. Jess watched him do his best to charm them. Miss Wilson’s attention was easily won, but then her cheeks blushed with uncertainty when both Miss Brents were decidedly cool to Destry. Ah well, Jess thought, the man’s love life was not at all his problem. He turned to find Mrs. Kendrick watching him. Her dog slept draped over her arm.

She curtsied to him. “Does the joy of observation in closer quarters not define a house party?”

“Indeed, it must, since you were watching us watch the young women who were wondering whom they should watch. The question is, Mrs. Kendrick,” he bowed to her, “who is watching you?”

She laughed and shrugged. Her dog whined a little at the interruption of his rest. “Ah me, to be young again,” she went on. “Their longing is palpable, is it not? You are close enough in age to them not to feel as I do. To be that age with the wisdom I’ve gained since then would be a great gift.”

“My dear Mrs. Kendrick, you are much too young to speak that way. That said, I fear I have learned much too little and would make the same mistakes all over again.”

“We each harbor those regrets, my lord.” She did not speak for a moment. “Speaking of regrets, I must ask, if only to relieve my own discomfort, how it is that you and Lord Crenshaw can be in the same room?”

At least she did not blush or look away, and she waited for his answer rather than trying to answer for him. “The fact that he still tolerates my presence even after I was named in his divorce is proof of how little the marriage meant to him.” Jess paused to swallow the rage that came with the memory. “You will note that when we are not gaming we each pretend the other does not exist.”

“Then how is it that you are both guests at the same house party? It is too small a group to avoid each other all the time.”

“I am willing to wager that you will never see us any closer than the width of a room, unless we are playing cards at the same table.”

“So it would be accurate to say that you cordially hate each other.”

If Mrs. Kendrick noticed that he did not explain why they both happened to be here, that suited him perfectly. “There is nothing cordial about my hatred, madam. I will shed no tears when his death is announced.”

“Please, do tell me exactly how you feel, my lord.” Mrs. Kendrick’s laugh made him smile. “Now, tell me what you know of Lord Belmont. I do find him a fine figure of a man.”

“Belmont?” Jess drew a breath and considered how to describe the earl. “The Earl of Belmont is unique, perhaps even eccentric.”

“Eccentric? Truly? Do you know, that is my favorite sort of friend.” She smoothed her dog’s coat and added, “You know him from your gaming?”

“No, Belmont enjoys play as long as it is not deep. And I fancy a greater challenge.” What was the point of gambling if you did not risk more than you could afford? “The earl lives near Portsmouth, not far from my brother Gabriel and his family. Gabriel marvels at the earl’s support of any number of unusual charities. And my brother is not easy to impress. One might call him unconventional.”

“Your brother or the earl?”

“Both, I suspect.”

“And what sort of charities?”

“I think you shall have to ask him yourself. But beware; for all his generosity he is as poor as a church mouse, a fact that is well known.”

“Then how fortunate that I am not.”

Mrs. Kendrick moved away with a languid grace that made Jess think of the bedroom. She did not approach Belmont, however, but rather went back to the countess.

What an entertaining group this was. He eyed Crenshaw. Unfortunately, not all of the entertainment was as amusing as Nora Kendrick, or as tempting as Beatrice Brent. Crenshaw had sought Beatrice out again, he could see, and had tucked her arm possessively through his.

The familiarity of it made Jess’s gut roll. He closed his eyes and prayed for calm. Though Beatrice let go of Crenshaw’s arm soon enough, she did give the man her complete attention, as though what he was prosing on about fascinated her as much as the artist she had discussed at dinner. Was it pretense or was she really intrigued by him?

It did not matter, he insisted to his nobler self. He was here to reclaim the land and not to play the hero, no matter how appealing the heroine in distress was.