One More Kiss (19 page)

Beatrice settled facing front once again.

“How did you know it was Papa?”

“That deep sonorous voice is the one he uses when he is speaking in public. I heard him once, when the second mill opened. Mama and I attended the tea after the inspection and Papa spoke to all the new workers.”

“Why didn’t I go?”

“You had the headache.”

Oh yes, Cecilia remembered. She had suffered such awful cramps in those days when her courses had first started. She was often abed for a day or two. Thank goodness that had passed.

“He is willing to do anything to see us properly launched,” Cecilia whispered to her. “Including becoming an actor.”

“Or perhaps he is just very fond of the countess,” Beatrice whispered back. Her eyes widened. “The most shocking idea just occurred to me. Do you think they are having an affair?”

Cecilia gave a couple of short sharp shakes of her head and tried to banish even the mental image that brought to her. “No!” she said with more shock than
denial. “He is a successful mill owner, a respected personage in Birmingham, a generous benefactor to several workhouses.”

“None of which means he does not have a personal life.”

“Yes, but it’s hard to think of him being involved with someone other than Mama.”

Beatrice took her sister’s hand and gave it a squeeze, as much as saying,
Let us not think about it
.

Cecilia squeezed back.
I have already forgotten it
. It was not the truth but she hoped it would be once their attention was distracted.

The countess stepped up to the music stand beside the piano. “Our reader this evening is the Reverend Michael Garrett, vicar of the church at Pennsford and Lord Jessup Pennistan’s brother-in-law. He is a gentleman very familiar with public speaking.”

Reverend Garrett strode into the room, stopping to grasp Lord Jess’s hand warmly and bow to the company. He took his place at the music stand set next to the piano.

Beatrice nudged her sister. “He certainly is handsome.”

“He is married, you know.” Cecilia’s smile took all criticism from her comment.

“One can still admire.”

“Is his wife with him?”

“How would I know?”

“Lady Olivia will join us in the morning. She’s retired for the evening.” Lord Destry, still seated next to them and blatantly eavesdropping, joined their conversation as if he had been invited.

“Thank you, my lord,” Cecilia answered with a
downward cast to her eyes. How much had the marquis overheard?

Reverend Michael Garrett waited until the room was quiet. “It’s a pleasure to be invited to read something aloud besides the Bible. The anonymous author of this piece has written a fascinating book and I hope what you hear tonight will encourage you to read it in full. In the meantime, I invite you to discuss each section as I finish reading.”

Twilight was settling, which meant it must be close to ten. The half-light added to the mood of the evening. At the piano Miss Wilson played an introduction, certainly something from Bach’s Requiem. As the last note faded, Mr. Garrett raised the book and began.

The anguish in his voice spoke of such deep suffering that Cecilia found herself hoping that the Reverend was simply a talented actor and was not drawing from his own experience.

“But that’s from
Paradise Lost
,” Miss Wilson said, sounding confused and not particularly entertained.

“Indeed.” The countess’s word and Mrs. Wilson’s “Hush” hung in the air together. Miss Wilson blushed. Cecilia could see that the girl did not know whether to be upset at her mother’s rebuke or pleased at the countess’s approval.

“Yes, it is,” Mr. Garrett confirmed. “The author uses it on the title page of
Frankenstein
, I think to encourage
sympathy for the monster, who after all did not ask for his humanity.”

“But none of us have asked for our humanity,” Lord Belmont countered. “That is no excuse for his brutal behavior.”

“You have read the book, my lord,” Mrs. Kendrick reminded him. “What do you think is the explanation for his murderous rampage?”

“God save us,” Destry whispered to both of the sisters, “this is a much too literary conversation for me.”

“Stop pretending that you’ve never read a book,” Beatrice admonished him. Cecilia was shocked at her sister’s familiarity and could think of nothing to say.

“As rarely as I can manage,” Destry insisted.

“My lord,” Beatrice said, “I do believe you would enjoy this one. There is all the action even you could wish for.”

“Have you read it?” He addressed his question to Cecilia and she could tell that Beatrice was not going to answer for her.

“My brother Ellis brought the first volume to us,” she said in a quiet voice, looking down at her hands.

Beatrice did no more than touch her elbow but Cecilia knew what that meant.
Don’t be such a moon face, Ceci. Look at him and tell him what you think of the book
.

Beatrice was right, Cecilia decided, and looked up, smiling at Lord Destry. “It’s an amazing story and I do so wish to read the other two volumes.”

B
EATRICE WAITED FOR
the marquis to answer her sister, but he had apparently been struck dumb. It was
Cecilia’s smile that had done it. Pure sweetness, it had stopped more than one man in his tracks. Unfortunately Beatrice also knew that the silence would not inspire confidence in her sister, who would be sure she had said the wrong thing. Beatrice chose not to come to the rescue.

Cecilia looked down at her hands again. Now that he was not spellbound by her smile, or maybe it was her eyes, the marquis found his voice. “Shall we ask the countess if we can borrow her copy and read it aloud together?”

“You would ask her? Oh, that is a fine idea!”

They were the first spontaneous words Beatrice had heard Cecilia say to the man who would be a duke.

The marquis’s “Excellent” confirmed his own enthusiasm for spending more time together. How long would it take, Beatrice wondered, for her sister to see that Lord Destry was just like all the other men she knew? Besotted by her beauty.

Was there any chance that in the next ten days the marquis would come to appreciate where Cecilia’s truest beauty lay?

“Yes, I do have some strong opinions on this book,” Lord Belmont said, drawing Beatrice’s attention back to the more general discussion of the last excerpt. “But please let us see what other passages have been chosen before we discuss it further.”

Mr. Garrett read on. The conversation was amusing and occasionally silly, but once or twice some intriguing ideas came to the fore.

“I think the essential question is whether the monster became so because of the lack of a proper upbringing or because of some natural flaw in his creation.”
Lord Belmont spoke carefully and then waited for the company to answer.

“The author, then, is prompting a discussion of the concept that at birth we have a clean slate and our lives are formed by what we experience.” Mr. Garrett smiled. “The marquis is looking perplexed.”

“Miss Brent has just assured me that this book is very entertaining and full of adventure. Now I am wondering if we are talking about the same book.”

“Ah, yes, but do not the best books entertain and encourage thought as well?”

Lord Destry looked unconvinced, but ventured an opinion anyway. “It seems to me that all children need guidance to understand what they are truly put on earth for.”

“Then you consider the monster Dr. Frankenstein’s child, despite the fact that he was born fully grown?” Mr. Garrett suggested.

“No, no,” Destry insisted. “I have no idea about this book but was speaking about children in general, Reverend.”

“Sometimes I do believe that my two boys are monsters.” That made everyone laugh, and Mr. Garrett went on. “But taking your point and applying it to Dr. Frankenstein’s creation, it is clear that the doctor abandoned him when the creature did not meet his expectations. What should he have taught him?”

“That we should all love one another,” the marquis answered promptly.

“Bravo, my lord,” Beatrice whispered to him. On her other side Cecilia looked over her sister’s head at Lord Destry in some confusion.

“We should teach our children to contribute to the common good,” Lord Belmont added.

Mr. Garrett nodded again and waited for other answers.

“To obey the Commandments and allow their betters to lead them.” Baron Crenshaw sat with his arms folded across his chest, his words bold and insistent.

“Very interesting, my lord. So here in this small group we already have three different schools of thought. One emphasizing love of fellow man, the second an obligation to make a contribution to society, and the third, the need to obey.”

“I take issue with the suggestion that we should teach them to let their betters lead them. What if their betters are misguided?” Lord Jess called out from the back of the room. His stance was indolent, leaning as he was against the wall near the door, but his tone belied his relaxed posture. “What if children are misinformed and wrongly taught?”

He straightened and walked to stand at the edge of the rows of chairs, still not part of the group. Not quite. “What if they are raised to believe that physical force is a solution when they are frustrated or angry?” He paused for a long moment. “As the monster demonstrated.”

“Many believe physical punishment is necessary.” Mr. Garrett offered the sentence for debate, Beatrice thought, not because he believed it himself. His eyes were too kind to allow it.

“In the schoolroom, perhaps,” Lord Jess allowed, not at all irritated by the dissent, “but what about physical force among adults?”

“If they are consenting adults then they may fight to
their death.” Mr. Brent spoke his piece, turning to look at Lord Jess and then at the countess, who gave a slight smile.

“But, sir, what if they do not consent? What if one is forced to accept physical discipline? As an adult?” Lord Jess addressed his question to the group but Beatrice could see Lord Crenshaw stiffen. He was not looking at Lord Jess. If he had been, Lord Jess would have been singed by the baron’s eyes. They burned with rage.

“To force someone to accept physical punishment is wrong.” Mrs. Kendrick was the first woman to voice an opinion and Beatrice silently cheered her on. “As the book unfolds the reader sees that even the monster understands right from wrong. If Frankenstein’s monster is human enough to know he is doing wrong, then are not men equally intelligent?”

“Slaves are treated without a thought for their humanity,” Beatrice said and hoped that her comment would advance the discussion.

“They are property and can be dealt with as the owner sees fit,” Crenshaw volunteered from his seat.

“And what of wives?” Lord Jess asked. “Upon marriage, what they own becomes their husband’s property, but they themselves do not, even though Saint Paul says that wives must be submissive to their husbands.”

Mr. Garrett shook his head. “My wife takes great issue with that passage, and that alone makes me realize that ‘submissive’ may be the wrong word.”

“As a vicar, Mr. Garrett, are you not honor bound to follow the teachings of the Church of England?” Lord Crenshaw demanded.

“Yes, I am, but that does not mean I cannot question their wisdom and suggest other interpretations. Bear in mind that Paul’s command to me is ‘Love your wife.’ How is forcing her submission a loving act?”

“Because it is in her best interest.” Crenshaw made the statement as if it were obvious, then sat back. He was relaxed enough that Beatrice did not fear a fist-fight.

“It is in your wife’s best interest to do what you wish her to do?” Mr. Garrett addressed his question to the group.

“Yes,” said Mrs. Wilson when Crenshaw merely shrugged.

“I often think it is in my best interests to do what Lady Olivia asks of me,” Mr. Garrett countered.

There was light, somewhat forced laughter among the company.

“If your wife chooses not to submit, what are your options, gentlemen? Take away her pin money?”

“Would you beat her? Deny her food?” This from Jess.

He spoke without humor. Really, Beatrice thought, he was joking. Wasn’t he? But she could feel Lord Destry tense beside her.

“I’m sure the countess agrees with me when I suggest that we should save the theological discussion for Sunday,” Mr. Garrett said with a smile, as though he did not feel the tension in the room.

The countess stood up. “I do believe that we must have plumbed the depths of
Frankenstein
to have drifted so far off the subject.” She turned toward the piano. “Miss Wilson, will you play the closing piece? I trust that will leave us in a happier frame of mind.”

Miss Wilson made a false start, but then settled her mind and her focus on the music. As the servants entered with tea, she played a lively piece that invited everyone to forget the horrors of Dr. Frankenstein’s monster and enjoy the last of the lovely summer evening.

Chapter Sixteen