One More Kiss (34 page)

“I know what you mean,” Beatrice said. “It’s just like the way I worry about you when I think you are taking too many risks on horseback, or riding too fast for safety. I know you are the best rider I have ever met, but I still worry.”

Cecilia hoped that Beatrice did not feel as sick as she did at the thought of Destry suffering an injury.

“Ceci, I think that’s what love does to us.”

“Do not use that word, Beatrice. I am not in love with Destry. I am not.”

“But why will you not allow yourself to even entertain the idea? There isn’t anything truly keeping you apart.”

“My birth. His title. His family would never allow him to marry someone so far outside his social circle.”

“Ceci, you do not know that for sure.”

“And I do not want to. I am not made for confrontation like you are. Did you know that the old duke, the one who died last year, disinherited his daughter because she would not do what he said? Mrs. Wilson told me about it.”

That did give Beatrice pause, but only for a moment. “The old duke was crazed and beyond demanding. And besides, he is dead now. Why would Mrs. Wilson upset you with that story?”

“It was a warning, Beatrice. A warning that the ton
is more demanding than the countess, who is, after all, our godmother.”

“So you are going to let one person, a woman neither one of us particularly likes, dictate whom you fall in love with?”

“I am not in love with him!” Cecilia shouted and then put her hands over her ears.

“Try telling that to your heart.” Beatrice spoke very quietly and her eyes filled once again.

Chapter Thirty
 

“T
HIS IS THE
first day that I have not been thoroughly entertained,” Beatrice announced to her sister as Darwell helped them undress. “Of course, it could have been my mood. What did you think, Cecilia?”

“Lord Crenshaw’s skill at archery was impressive but it was hardly fair to challenge the other gentlemen without advance warning so that they could practice.” Cecilia sat at the dressing table and applied some of the face cream that Katherine insisted was the best available. It smelled odd but felt silky soft.

Darwell gathered their dresses and took them into the dressing room.

“And did you notice, Beatrice, that he was not at dinner this evening? The countess said he had a meeting and would be back in the morning. Do you think he went to see Mr. Wilson?”

“Lord Crenshaw is going to offer for her so soon?”

So Beatrice was as surprised as she was. “Perhaps he
is just asking for permission to court her,” Cecilia suggested. “But why would her family agree to that before her Season?”

“Because they have two other daughters to bring out, one in each of the next two years,” Beatrice explained as she rolled down her stockings. “Katherine and I were talking about that after dinner. They are all so close in age that her father suggested bringing them out in two groups rather than individually, but Mrs. Wilson said that each must have her own time in London.”

“No wonder Mr. Wilson wants to be sure his estates prosper.”

“And would be inclined to welcome Crenshaw’s courtship, don’t you think?”

Darwell came back into the room in time to hear that last and made a sound of disgust. Cecilia thought perhaps this was not something they should discuss around their maid, given her dislike of the man.

“Surely Lord Crenshaw will be back in time for the race,” Beatrice ventured. “No one wants to miss that, if only to see the spectacle of the marquis riding sidesaddle.”

“Lord Jess told me at dinner that—” Cecilia stopped speaking. “I am sorry, Bitsy, I forgot that you made me promise to never say that man’s name again.”

“I will excuse the lapse but next time I will threaten to make you ‘eat soap,’ as Mama used to say.” She spoke without smiling.

Cecilia’s face must have shown her shock, because Beatrice started to laugh.

“Ceci, don’t look at me that way. You know how often Mama followed through on that threat.”

“Never,” Cecilia said, relaxing enough to try one more time. “I wish you would confide in me.”

“There is no point.” Her sister answered without hesitation, and Cecilia knew it was hopeless to press her further.

“I thought Lord Jess and I did a credible job of being civil to each other.”

“Yes, if you consider endless curtsies and bows a sign of civility. Did you even once answer any question he addressed to you?”

“Yes,” Beatrice said. “When he asked me if I would like the chicken I told him I would. And another time I accepted the salt to pass to Lord Belmont.”

“Charming,” Cecilia said, meaning the opposite. “Everyone noticed, you know.”

“They did not. I watched and they all had their eyes on the earl and Mrs. Kendrick.”

“Not everyone did, Bitsy, believe me. But Nora and the earl were in amazingly good spirits. I swear I saw Mrs. Wilson roll her eyes. As if she had never seen two people falling in love.”

Cecilia saw Darwell press her lips together to keep from smiling. The maid gathered up their clothes and took them into the dressing room, leaving them to don their nightgowns.

“Oh, I think it’s more than that,” Beatrice said. “I think they’re sharing a bed.”

“Really?” Cecilia’s expression of ennui disappeared instantly. “Here in this house?”

“They are not renting a room at the village inn. Yes, here in this house. It is a house party and those sorts of liaisons are common enough.” Beatrice held the sophisticated pose for a few seconds longer and then
widened her eyes. “I wonder how they manage it. Does one arrange it beforehand, or just knock on the door?”

“We could ask Darwell.” Cecilia was delighted to see her sister’s eyes lit with curiosity again.

“No, we cannot ask Darwell. And that’s another thing. What about maids and valets? When do they know to disappear and where do they go?”

“Do not ask me.” Darwell spoke with disapproval. “I heard you from the other room,” she explained.

Darwell took Cecilia’s brush from her and finished the last of the strokes that kept her hair so lustrous. “Now change the subject. It is not seemly for two young ladies to discuss such goings-on. You would do better to discuss the plant demonstration that Miss Cecilia will give in two days.” She spoke to Cecilia’s reflection in the mirror. “You have only one more day to prepare.”

“Oh, Darwell,” Cecilia moaned. “Why did you remind me? Now I will never be able to fall asleep.”

B
EATRICE FINISHED BRAIDING
her hair and wished that something as innocent as her talk on Rembrandt’s drawings would keep her from sleep. All she could do when the lights were out and distractions were gone was think about Jess and the way he’d made her feel.

Worst of all was the niggling fear that he might be right, that she would give in to the next man who tempted her.

No, that wasn’t true. She could not imagine lying with anyone but Jess. No other man’s touch had ever made her feel wanton and so irresponsible that nothing mattered but being with him in every way possible.

Of course there had not been any other men, but even when she first saw him from the window she had felt a strong attraction. And that had never ever happened to her before.

There were a hundred reasons why being with him would be wrong, not the least of which was that Jess would think her easy and lose any respect that he might still have for her. And she would lose hers for him, she admitted to herself. She sighed.

And tried to redirect her thoughts by counting the number and placement of old master drawings she had seen this past fortnight.

Chapter Thirty-one
 

“W
HAT THE HELL
is wrong with you?” Destry asked.

“Concentrate on what you’re doing,” Jess snapped back. “Or you will land on your ass.”

They were riding the racecourse that Destry and Cecilia had laid out earlier.

“Riding sidesaddle requires a little less concentration than it did yesterday, I’m happy to report,” Destry announced cheerfully. “Besides, I would have to be without any sensibility at all not to sense your foul mood. Even your horse can sense it and I’m at least as smart as he is.”

“Nothing’s wrong.”

“It has nothing to do with drinking to excess and going to bed the other night drunk as two lords, does it?” Destry asked.

Jess grunted back. His headache was fading. No point in pretending that was an excuse.

“I’ve decided your ill humor is about one of two
things. Perhaps both. You were not able to win the land from Crenshaw and want another try, or you’re upset about a woman.”

Jess grumbled. It wasn’t the land.

“It’s a shame you didn’t try for Nora Kendrick sooner. Too late now,” Destry babbled on. “She and Belmont are as close as a saddle and a horse. Of course it may not be true love. There’s always that chance.”

“I don’t want a chance at true love, and you know it is not with Nora Kendrick, damn it.”
I just want her
, he thought.
Now, today, maybe tomorrow, but not forever
.

They rode for a while until the quiet was broken by the sound of another person on horseback. Lord Crenshaw passed them with no more greeting than a curt glance. Crenshaw was so absorbed in his own thoughts that he did not even seem to notice Destry’s strange position on Jupiter.

“I’m leaving after your race,” Jess said as he watched Crenshaw ride out of sight. “I don’t know why I waited this long. It’s not as though I’ll have another chance to win the land from him and that is all these last two weeks were supposed to be about. My punch to his face last night put paid to that.”

H
IS FRIEND WAS
not his usual charming self, Destry realized. Jess never drank to excess and to brawl in public was not at all in his nature.

They rode on to the halfway point of the race, the ford across the river, which was not much more than a healthy stream this time of year, even after the rain of the other night.

Destry held back from crossing to assess the depth and speed of the water and to give Jupiter an equal chance to observe. Jess waited with him, lost in thought. He was unaware of the sound of a conveyance approaching.

This couple did notice his unusual position on the horse, and Destry could have cried with embarrassment. Cecilia’s father and the countess were riding in a rather elegantly tricked-out dogcart, with the countess holding the reins. In the back of the cart was a basket and blanket. Clearly the two were planning on a picnic.

The couple stopped to greet them. “Lord Jessup. Good morning to you.” Mr. Brent hailed them in an unexpectedly friendly way, and then saw how Destry was mounted. “My lord marquis,” he said with a careful, seated bow.

“Good morning, my lady and Mr. Brent.” Destry could not decide whether to try to explain his awkward seat or pretend that nothing was odd about a man riding sidesaddle. He opted for something in between.

“Mr. Brent, your daughter Miss Cecilia and I were discussing the disadvantage a lady endures because she must ride sidesaddle and I thought I would try it so that I could better understand her perspective.” He hoped that the countess at least would think that romantic.

“I see,” Mr. Brent said with a dubious nod. After a moment’s consideration he added, “Let’s just hope she does not convince you to try wearing a gown so that you can see how awkward that can be.”

With a laugh, the countess clucked the horse and they moved off, the horses and cart moving confidently
over the ford and to the north, the opposite direction from what Destry and Cecilia had established as their racecourse. That he and Jess would not run into them again was the smallest of reliefs.

“That could have gone better.”

“That’s stating the obvious, Jess. Do you think he has me pegged as odd now?”

“Either that or a man who can be led by the nose,” Jess said with the first smile he had tested all day. “So why didn’t you tell him everything?”

“Because Cecilia never even suggested I wear a woman’s habit.”

“Not that, Des. Why did you not tell him about the race?”

“I was afraid he would forbid it and it’s too important for me to take that chance. Do I need to explain that to you again?”