One More Kiss (17 page)

“I accept that. One guinea, my lord?” Beatrice said with a coquettish tilt of her head.

“Bitsy! Papa would never approve of that,” Cecilia whispered. “You know how he dislikes using money for such things.”

“But I know it’s not Mr. Wilson,” Beatrice whispered back. “Even Papa would agree that wagering on something you are certain of is like a wise business decision.”

“Hmmm” was all Cecilia said, apparently unconvinced.

“Who do you think it is, Miss Beatrice?” Destry asked.

“I do not have to say the name aloud, do I?” Beatrice turned to Lord Jess. “Only to you.”

“Yes, that will be sufficient for me as long as no one else accepts the wager.” Beatrice came close to him and whispered the name. Lord Jess smiled like a pleased tutor.

“Your gaming had best end with this, Bitsy,” Cecilia whispered with unusual sharpness.

“Have we not already agreed to be taught after Papa leaves?” Beatrice murmured, and then added, “I am not sure how I will find out if I am right.”

“Where is he speaking from?” Destry asked, rising up and down on the balls of his feet as if that would help him see better.

All four of them scanned the walls of the room. Only
then did Beatrice notice the artwork. The space had a vaulted ceiling with the ceiling panel painted as the heavens. The walls were a single continuous mural depicting something monumental and Roman. She must come back and see this in better light.

“He could easily blend in with the life-size men in the mural, especially with the room so dimly lit.” This contribution from Lord Jess.

The rest of the party stood in another group except for Lord Belmont, who was making a circuit of the space.

“Lord Belmont may find out for us,” Beatrice observed. “For him it is another mystery to be solved.”

“Ladies and gentlemen.”

The three words called their attention to the countess, who was now seated at the head of the table with the two footmen standing on either side of her. The crystals on her dress caught the light, the glow making her look intimidating as it proclaimed her majesty.

With a silent gesture to Destry to seat himself at the foot of the table she acknowledged him as the ranking nobleman present.

“Isn’t it interesting that, without a spouse, the countess can devise a number of different seating arrangements that honor us by rank?” Cecilia was twisting her hands together, trying to hide her nerves.

“So that guarantees we will always be in the middle,” Beatrice added with logic. “But you watch and see if we do not always have a different gentleman seated next to us.”

“Oh, do you think that’s what she intends?” Cecilia looked down at her dress and smoothed a nonexistent crease.

Before Beatrice could answer her sister, indeed before she could admit that she had no idea what the countess intended, the disembodied voice spoke again.

“Sit down, now, my lord.” His command was whispered and was all the more threatening for it.

Belmont bowed in response and left his study of the darker corners of the room. He sat to the countess’s right, Crenshaw to her left, and the footman guided the others to their seats.

The countess raised her glass. “Here’s to an intriguing evening.”

Chapter Fourteen
 

T
ONIGHT
B
EATRICE WAS
again seated next to Lord Jess. Was that an answer to her unspoken wish to know him better? Lord Crenshaw was on her other side for the first time since they had all dined together.

Dinner was served in the French style and they began to help themselves from the platters arrayed around the table. Beatrice was relieved that the salmon was not near and considered the haricots verts enough of a penance. Did they never go out of season?

“Have you heard of this novel, my lord?” Beatrice asked Lord Crenshaw, earning a smile of approval from the countess.

“Yes, and I do not think
Frankenstein
an appropriate book for a young woman to read.”

His comment made Beatrice all the more glad that she had not admitted to any familiarity with it. “You have read it then?”

“No,” he said. He ate some trout and went on. “A
woman’s sensibilities are too delicate to deal with monsters of any kind.”

“Yes, I can see that you would like to protect those you care about from all the horrors of the world.”

“Indeed, I would protect anyone I cared for and I have.”

Beatrice heard something in his voice she could not quite identify, but went on anyway.

“How noble of you, my lord, but surely you know that is impossible. Childbirth is a monster all its own and one women have been forced to face alone since Adam and Eve.”

“That is not a subject to be discussed at dinner, or ever between a man and a woman who are not married.” Lord Crenshaw’s tone would have made ice shiver. Beatrice flinched.

Now she recognized the edge in his voice. Anger. He was incensed about something. Was it what she had said? She looked up, desperately wishing for someone to rescue her from her mistake.

Lord Jess was watching them with an intensity that was as unsettling as Lord Crenshaw’s anger.

“How many think it is possible for monsters to exist?” Lord Jess’s raised voice drew everyone’s attention.

Relief overwhelmed Beatrice’s anxiety, and she felt even more charitable toward Lord Jess. She smiled at him, meaning only gratitude, but she could read Cecilia’s expression.
Stop grinning at him like a lovesick milkmaid
.

Milkmaid. Surely not
. But she tamed her smile. Her relief was short-lived.

“The idea of monsters is nonsense,” Lord Crenshaw
responded, with unnecessary vehemence. The two men stared at each other as though they would prefer to be dueling with swords and not just words. And Beatrice was in the middle.

“Not necessarily.” Belmont’s calm voice added a much-needed dose of reason. “Let’s start with ghosts. How many here accept them as possible?”

The countess spoke up promptly.

“I went through the attics here when the earl and I were first married,” the countess began, “and in one of the larger closets I walked in on a man reading near a window. He looked most annoyed with me and I hurried out of the room apologizing profusely. As I walked back down the passage I realized that I could see through him. Yes, I believe in ghosts.”

Beatrice could tell that Mrs. Wilson was not convinced, but was polite enough not to cast aspersions on her hostess’s story.

“I have heard compelling stories of monsters deep in the coal mines in Wales, and even one in a loch in Scotland.” The earl sipped his wine and smiled, waiting for the other guests to react.

“Told by illiterate men who drink too much blue ruin.” Crenshaw waved his hand as though to dismiss the conversation and added, “There are more worthwhile subjects to discuss.”

“This is a party, my lord,” the countess chided with a charming smile. “We can leave those ‘worthwhile subjects’ to you gentlemen over your brandy.”

“I saw something odd once,” Miss Wilson began, rather tentatively. “At my grandfather’s house, a week or so after he died.”

“A ghost?” Beatrice encouraged.

“No, it was something in the night sky. It resembled a star but was the size of a cricket ball. It moved with amazing speed.”

“It was a falling star.” Crenshaw spoke as though he had been there.

“No, my lord, it was not.” Her voice was filled with such urgency that the man started in surprise. “It moved in an uneven pattern, up and down and east to west, then west to east. It grew larger as it came closer to the field in which I stood. Finally, it chose a spot and settled to the ground.”

She had the complete attention of everyone at the table. Beatrice half smiled at the footmen standing at service. They had lost their usual air of indifference. Indeed they were more wide-eyed than the dinner guests.

“What happened next?” Destry prompted.

“I don’t know. I ran away.” She covered her mouth for a moment. “You see, I did not want to know.”

“Every time you tell that story it grows more strange.” Mrs. Wilson was trying to look amused but was not very successful, her eyes darting from one guest to the next to see what they thought.

“But I have only told this story once before, Mama, and that was to you and Papa,” Miss Wilson whispered, her discomfort growing.

“I think it was no more than a very vivid dream.” Mrs. Wilson ignored her daughter’s comment and spoke to the others.

“Undoubtedly a dream, and women have such vivid imaginations.” Lord Crenshaw made it sound like imagination was a terrible weakness. Beatrice was seeing
a new side to him this evening—one that had little appeal for her.

“If it was a dream, Miss Wilson, then you have the beginnings of a fine novel yourself.” Lord Belmont looked thoughtful. “But there have been other such reports in different parts of the country and even the world.”

Conversation exploded among the group, as the company considered Belmont’s words.

“What do you think of that, Miss Brent?” Lord Jess asked, leaning close, which she appreciated, for she did not wish Lord Crenshaw to hear her answer.

She could see the brown streaks in his blond hair, his surprisingly long eyelashes and blue eyes that were almost always lit with a smile. What was his question? She could not quite recall.

“I’m fascinated,” she said finally, hoping it was an adequate answer.

“Do you think Miss Wilson’s night visitor could have been from another world?” He did not move closer but his serviette slipped and his effort to grab it brought his face next to hers.

“Are you implying that there are worlds we have yet to discover here on earth?” She moved a little away from him, trying to decide if he was flirting, then reminded herself that she and Roger had proved that a man and woman could carry on an intelligent conversation without it being called a flirtation. “Or do you just wish to prove that women are subject to absurd conjecture?”

“Never. That is Crenshaw’s area of expertise.” He spoke without looking up, settling his serviette on his lap and taking up his fork.

Yes, she thought. There was a difference between his testing, or was it teasing, behavior and Lord Crenshaw’s imperious statements.

Beatrice nibbled on some chicken, while she watched Lord Jess handle his fork. His fingers were long and elegant, with short and brutally clean nails. It was only in contrast to the white of his shirt cuffs that she noticed how bronzed his skin was, as though he spent more time than most in the saddle or not wearing gloves.

“Miss Brent,” he began again, “I think we have discovered all intelligent life on this planet. But what about the other planets in our solar system? Or in our universe? My brother David is a man of science and the thought of life from beyond our world fascinates him.”

“I have never heard that idea before.” She still wondered if he was teasing her. “Dealing with this world is enough of a challenge. Look at the damage Napoleon caused, and even at peace there is enough dissent here in England to demand all our attention. No, we do not need visitors from beyond our world.”

“Perhaps Miss Wilson’s visitors feel the same way, for they have not made themselves known in a general way, have they?”

“Do you think Miss Wilson truly saw something from another planet?”

“No, I do not. I think it was some comet or meteor. I think she was upset by the death of her grandfather. There are any number of explanations much more sensible than a visitor from the stars.”

Beatrice could not have said why she felt relieved by Lord Jess’s certainty but she did. Or maybe it was only
because she recognized his kindness in not making his thoughts known the way Lord Crenshaw had.

“Shall we take a walk one night, when the moon is new?” he suggested. “We can search the sky for another such visitor. It would go some way toward convincing Miss Wilson that we believe her.”

That would be fun, she thought, but kept it to herself since it would be terribly inappropriate.

“We would invite the others, naturally.”

Lord Jess sounded as though he felt his reputation would be threatened if he was alone with her.

“Any guests that you think might be sympathetic.”

She gave him a searching look and found only polite suggestion in his expression.

“Which would mean neither Lord Crenshaw nor Mrs. Wilson.”

“Exactly, I see we are like-minded in that.”

She looked away from him and he laughed.

“Now why should the suggestion that we think alike make your color rise?”

“Because I cannot think of anything further from the truth. Not that I mean that as an insult. But our experience of life could not be more different.”
And I am curious about you. Too curious for my own good
.

“Don’t you think that the countess intended for this party to give you some familiarity with people whose lives have been very different from your own? Mrs. Kendrick, Lord Belmont.”

“Practice. I told Cecilia this is practice.”

“Life in a city like London will be filled with new adventures every day.”

She could not restrain a smile. “It will be so much fun.”

He smiled into her eyes. “I wish I could see it through your eyes. It’s been too many years since any of it was new to me.”