A Season Beyond a Kiss (21 page)

“Little chance of that,” Jeff had replied when Kingston had posed such a question. “Even well along with child, she’ll have her own circle of admirers and friends who’ll make sure that doesn’t happen.”

As expected, Heather was surrounded by a small collection of guests who had paused to pay their respects. Farrell Ives had led Elizabeth Dalton upon his arm to that very spot where they were now engaged in conversation with the charming Mrs. Brandon Birmingham. In much the same manner, Thelma Brewster had hastened across the room, but only after noting the couturier among those presently talking to the pregnant beauty. Thelma brought her companions with her, the widowered English lord and Lydia Winthrop, both of middling years. Although Mrs. Winthrop had grown up near the Charleston area, in the last score of years she had taken up residence in London after marrying a wealthy Englishman. Recently she had made the voyage to visit friends in the Carolinas. As for the nobleman, he had lived most of his life near that great metropolis in England and had every intention of returning once he concluded his business in the area.

“My dears, have you met Lord Marsden?” Lydia Winthrop queried, with an elegant sweep of her hand drawing the tall, lank gentleman forward. “We became acquainted while sailing here from London. Nasty weather, we had, too. Tossed our ship about more than I could abide, but that is neither here nor there. Lord Marsden came here on a quest to find a suitable track of land to buy as a wedding gift for his daughter and her fiancé. Mrs. Brewster assured us that it would be perfectly acceptable with our host if his lordship came along with us, seeing as how the Birmingham men could likely advise him on the best acreages to be had in the area.”

Lord Marsden cleared his throat as if he were about to launch himself into a long speech. “Yes, of course, I didn’t wish to intrude, you see, but these kindly ladies insisted. I sincerely hope our host isn’t averse to strangers imposing upon his hospitality.”

Heather smiled up at the man. From where she sat, he seemed to loom over the pair of ladies who flanked him, especially the portly Mrs. Brewster, who was nearly a half head shorter than the more elegant Lydia Winthrop. As for his lordship, he was definitely a bland sort, tall, lean, long of limb, with lank, brown hair and a dour face typical of some pompous aristocrats. Although his dark blue frockcoat and breeches were finely tailored, they were as sober as the man’s face.

“Rest easy, my lord,” she urged graciously. “I’m sure my brother-in-law will be honored by your attendance. But as to your purpose here, Jeffrey and Brandon are both capable of assisting you in your search for land, but if you’re not overly pressed for time tonight, please enjoy the festivities and help yourself to the refreshments. Jeffrey has an exceptional cook, so the cuisine promises to be simply delectable.”

“Thank you for making a foreigner feel at home, madam,” Lord Marsden replied graciously. “You’re very kind indeed.”

“My pleasure to be of service, my lord. Now, please,” Heather bade, “enjoy yourself and feel free to have a look around if you’d like. Since so many guests have made requests to view the improvements that have been done here at Oakley, most of the rooms will be open for inspection. The house is a fine example of the plantation homes in this area and has become a real gem since my brother-in-law refurbished it. Only Jeffrey’s personal chambers will be reserved for his private needs and those of his immediate family during the festivities.”

Lord Marsden responded with an abbreviated bow. “Your family is most courteous, madam.”

Turning aside, he followed the two older women who were strolling across the room. When Lydia Winthrop paused to indicate the ceilings and walls of the ballroom that were elegantly embellished with flower festoons of delicately hued pargetry adorned with elaborate gilding, his lordship dutifully followed her gaze upward.

“I remember this place when Louisa’s parents lived here,” Lydia mused aloud. “It was a fine house then, but nothing at all to what it is today. Never once did I imagine it could look this grand.”

“Albeit, madam,” his lordship replied, “in comparison to the great homes of London, you must agree that it seems a bit wane. Yet I suppose in contrast to the humble dwellings I’ve seen here in the Carolinas, it would be equivalent to a modest English estate, although nothing too grand, you understand.”

Mrs. Brewster’s buoyant smile faded forthwith. The fact that her own tiny apartment and millinery shop took up less space than the room they were occupying made her wonder if, after a visit to her establishment, Lord Marsden would be inclined to look down his long, thin nose at her. She thought it wise to lead the subject elsewhere. “Miss Heather is a very fine lady, perhaps the most enchanting in the area . . . besides Miss Raelynn, of course.”

His lordship withdrew a snuffbox and sprinkled a little powder on the back of his hand. Inhaling a few small particles into each nostril, he raised his head and pompously elevated his brows as he pressed a handkerchief aside his nose. “She bears the coloring of those dastardly Irish. Is she?”

Momentarily struck speechless, Thelma Brewster searched her memory. “I-I think so. I mean, I seem to recall hearing someone say her mother came to England from Ireland after her marriage to Heather’s father.”

Lord Marsden bounced on his toes as he lifted his angular chin almost level with his long nose. “Too bad.”

The milliner felt the back of her neck prickle uncomfortably. If the man thought Heather Birmingham beneath his lofty peerage, then how much farther down the scale would he rank most of the Charlestonians, herself included?

Lydia Winthrop smiled blandly at the man. “You’ll find the citizenry of this area are little concerned with titles and nobility, my lord. You must remember that although this territory was once under English rule, it’s no longer subject to the authority of the monarchy. People here desired their freedom from autocracy enough to fight for it.”

“Rebels . . . Yankees . . . all the same,” Marsden replied imperiously.

The plump cheeks of the milliner drew sharply inward in a shocked gasp. The awe she had formerly felt for the nobleman was quickly turning into vexing ire. Indeed, if she had to listen to any more of this Englishman’s long-nosed arrogance, she’d be liable to lower a punchbowl over his dark head. In an effort to turn the subject once again to something less confrontational, she indicated the bountiful fare laid out on the tables. “You’ll not likely find food as tasty as this in all of the Carolinas, my lord. Wouldn’t you care to take a plate and sample some?”

Lord Marsden touched his lace handkerchief almost daintily to the side of his nose again and sniffed. “I dare not ask what has gone into the making of these dishes. Such rich victuals may well prove the death of me.”

“Well, ‘tis doubtful you’ll be finding any kidney pie around these here parts, your lordship,” Mrs. Brewster retorted, casting a jaundiced eye toward the man. English lord or not, he definitely needed to be taught some manners. “As for me, I can hardly wait to begin.”

Lydia passed the milliner a plate as she smilingly invited, “Shall we?”

Heather caught sight of Jeff making his way toward her through the crowd of guests. As he drew near, she stretched forth a welcoming hand and laughed like an eager schoolgirl. “I was wondering what I would have to do to get your attention. As much as you’ve been dancing with Raelynn, I was sure I’d have to break in and ask you for a dance myself just to get a chance to talk with you. Your ball is quite lovely, sir. Thank you for inviting us.”

Winking at her fondly, Jeff brought her thin fingers to his lips before he stepped back and swept her with a teasing perusal. “Madam, may I say that you look very much like a hen upon her nest, waiting expectantly for her egg to hatch.”

Heather laid a small hand upon her belly and contentedly drummed her fingers against it. “Any week now.”

“Feeling all right, princess?”

“Perfectly,” she assured him, her smile deepening. Then she cast a loving glance toward her husband and heaved a small sigh as that one leaned against her chair. “Or at least I would be if your brother would relax just the tiniest bit. I swear, he watches over me as tenaciously as a dog with a juicy bone.”

Her happy tone dismissed any hint of reproach and drew a grin from her husband. That worthy proceeded to caress his wife’s shoulder. “You must forgive me, my sweet, but as you appear on the threshold of ushering our new offspring into the world, I believe I may be allowed a small degree of anxiety.”

Heather gave him a saucy pout. “Oh, posh, you know perfectly well that it may be another two weeks or so yet before our daughter hatches. At least, that’s what Hatti said. You must have forgotten what I looked like a few weeks before Beau arrived. Something closely reminiscent of a frigate with its weighty prow plowing through water, I would imagine.”

Laughter made the rounds among those who stood near her chair, yet in spite of Brandon’s amusement, Jeff glimpsed some evidence of strain in his countenance, similar to that which his brother had experienced a thrice of years ago when he had faced Beau’s birth. More than anyone, Jeff knew how firmly Heather held her husband’s heart ensnared and that the merest thought of her enduring the pain of childbirth or, worse yet, of her dying during her labor stole away Brandon’s peace of mind. In spite of her fairly easy delivery the first time, there always loomed a threat of complications, and until it was over, Brandon could not settle down and live at peace with himself.

“Believe me, my sweet,” her husband replied huskily, taking his wife’s delicately boned hand within his and squeezing it affectionately, “I’ve forgotten nothing of my ordeal, and that’s why I fret now.”

When Heather lifted a dewy-eyed look of tender regard to her spouse, Jeff felt as if he had inadvertently trespassed into their intimacy. In turning aside, he faced Farrell, who had also witnessed the exchange of loving devotion between the pair. Rarely had that one glimpsed the like of such closeness between a married couple. It was a loving unity that a bachelor could well envy.

“Jeffrey, me dearie, you’re looking quite dapper for a change,” the clothier remarked with more than a hint of mischief and struck a lofty pose as his host turned a grin upon him.

“Egads, Fancy Man, you almost rival my wife’s appearance,” Jeff teased as he swept his gaze down the length of the other’s tall, broad-shouldered frame. Not a stitch was out of place in the long, narrow-fitting trousers of charcoal gray pinstripe, waistcoat of silver-scrolled brocade, white shirt and cravat, and black, claw-tailed frockcoat. He couldn’t help but admire the fashionable clothes.

Farrell preened in exaggerated conceit as he ran his thumbs beneath the lapels of his finely tailored coat. “You think so?”

“Aye, I do.”

“Come to my shop when you have time to spare, Jeffrey me dearie, and I’ll teach you some of the finer points of style. You could certainly benefit from my advice.”

A dubious grin accompanied Jeff’s quip. “I’ll consider your offer if I ever want to masquerade as a dandy.”

The bearded face fell forthwith as Farrell made much of his distress, in the process drawing laughter from everyone who witnessed his visual deflation. “I swear, Jeffrey, you can be downright offensive when your jealousy is tweaked.”

“Now don’t pout,” Jeff urged drolly. “I didn’t intend to offend you. Truth is, you’re looking as pretty as a Carolina peach.”

Elizabeth cast a glance awry at her handsome escort and, upon espying his toothy grin, seemed suddenly distressed as if sorely lamenting the damage their host had done. “You’d better not feed the man’s vanity more than you have, sir. His head is getting top-heavy, as it is. Please remember. I have to work with him.”

“Stuck on himself, is he?”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes, magnifying her inhibitions. “You’d never hear such a comment from me, sir . . . as much as I may think it.”

Capturing her hand within his, Farrell chortled good-naturedly. “I think it’s time we showed this oaf of a host that he’s not the only one who can dance a waltz. Besides, my dear, I’d like everyone to see your new gown.”

“Another one of your creations, Fancy Man?” Jeff queried with a lopsided grin.

“Actually, my assistant, here, designed and made the frock herself. Quite lovely, don’t you think?”

The deep magenta gown truly did justice to the beauty of the fair-skinned brunette, and in gallant appreciation of all that he saw, Jeff executed a flamboyant bow. “You’re looking exceptionally beautiful tonight, Miss Elizabeth. Quite exquisite, in fact. You put your employer to shame.”

A soft chuckle escaped Elizabeth as she sank into a charming curtsey. “Thank you, Mr. Birmingham.”

“Jeff,” their host corrected. “Or if you’re so inclined, Jeffrey. While you’re away from your employer’s shop, Elizabeth, I must insist on a more casual address than Mr. Birmingham.” His dancing eyes flicked briefly to the couturier before he added, “And you can tell him I said so.”

Laughing, Elizabeth dipped her head in a fleeting nod of consent. “As you wish, Jeffrey.”

“Enjoy yourselves, my friends,” their host bade, with a flamboyant wave of his hand urging them onto the dance floor. “I’ll join you there as soon as I can find my wife.”

Jeff’s gaze was drawn to Raelynn as if by a will of its own, and for a moment he stood marveling at her regal beauty as she was swirled about the floor by another friend, Sheriff Rhys Townsend. The huge man was amazingly light on his feet, and although Raelynn seemed dwarfed by his size, she had no difficulty following his lead. In truth, she was taller than Heather by several degrees and seemed almost willowy in the long, narrow-skirted gown that flowed with subtly clinging grace from her shoulders to the floor. Jeff thought the gown a bit deceptive, for he was fully cognizant and, as her husband, most appreciative of the ripe curves that lay hidden beneath the shimmering sheath. Their weeks of intimacy had taught him to see beyond the outer shell of the lovely, vibrant woman and to read the true depth of the lady hidden within. He realized with some surprise that for all the pleasure he derived from their passion and marital familiarity, some deeper, richer emotion was taking root in his heart. It had a quality that was outside his realm of experience. As yet, he could put no name to it. Still, it was very pleasant knowing that she was his alone.