THE MAGIC TOUCH (Historical Romance) (9 page)

My Dearest Beaumont
,

Thursday
feels such a very long time away, I can scarcely contain myself. Aunt Constance has admonished me several times for being fidgety and not listening to her. I hope she doesn’t suspect anything. I am worried that I will not be able to escape at the appropriate hour and you will be left waiting and think I have changed my mind about meeting you. That I would never do.

In my head I go over the times we have been close. When you helped me into the carriage after the ball and I thought you would kiss me – there I’ve said it. When you held my hand at the magic lantern show. If only you knew how your look, your touch, your words affect me.

And yet you are an enigma. Your lack of a title, the way you seem entranced by me one minute and the next are heading for the wilds of the north, the fact that you regard yourself as unworthy. I am mystified.

I never imagined I would feel like this. I have been introduced to many gentlemen, but never have I felt the sensations I feel when I see you or even think about you.

Enough for now.

Your loving Hope

Hope read the letter and tore it into little pieces. She had never intended to send it to Beaumont; she simply wanted to put her feelings on paper to see if she could make sense of them. It hadn’t helped.

She decided to occupy her mind with another lesson for E
dna and her friends. When it had been arranged and she entered the servants’ hall, Stevenson was talking to the cook, who acknowledged her presence and left the room.

“Lady Hope, I wonder if I could have a word.”
He looked unusually uncomfortable.

Hope’s heart plummeted. Her plans to help the young girls in service here was
going to be thwarted. “Of, course, Stevenson.”

“I doubt you know much about me, the
re is no need for you to do so. When I started in service as the hallboy, the butler at the house took me under his wing. He taught me to write. He also taught me everything I needed to know to progress my career. I have no idea why.”

“
He saw your potential, Stevenson.”

Stevenson looked flustered. “Possibly. Without his help I would not be
in the position of butler here.” Hope could almost see his chest puffing out. He was very proud of his status and rightly so she thought. “In view of my experience I would be prepared to overlook your visits to the servants’ hall, but you are putting us all in an untenable position which might result in us losing our jobs. You must tell Her Grace, or I will have to do so myself.”

“Quite right
, Stevenson and thank you for your understanding. I will tell Aunt Constance at dinner this evening.” In spite of trying to sound confident Hope could already feel her knees trembling at the thought of telling her aunt about her visits below stairs. She attempted to concentrate on the lesson and not dwell on the forthcoming confrontation.

The way the servants applied themselves to their lesson delighted Hope. It was very rewarding
to put pictures before the young women and ask them to choose the correct word to place beside them. She’d expanded the pictures from fashion to food and animals. The latter she’d drawn herself and had enjoyed doing so. There was a stray cat which she often saw from her window, and in the street outside the morning room she caught sight of mangy dogs roaming around.

When the lesson ended, she asked if there were any pictures they’d like for next time. As soon as she’d asked the question, she was aware
that there might not be a next time. Her insides knotted as she remembered she had to broach the subject with her aunt. While Aunt Constance had softened considerably since Hope’s arrival, this particular situation could only have one outcome she feared. She would be instructed to give up her teaching.

At dinner she could feel Stevenson’s eyes on her. She looked at him and received
an encouraging if almost imperceptible nod.

“Aunt, I have a confession. I have done something im
proper, but I think it was for the best of reasons. You must judge for yourself.”

“Well, my dear, you clearly
didn’t follow Isabella’s example and partner the same man for almost every dance. Perhaps given the opportunity you would have. Are you running away with a soldier? That can’t be it because you say you have already committed the improper act. It is clear it is of little significance or you would be wringing your hands and weeping. Come along, dear, tell me, nothing much shocks me anymore.”

After
Hope had explained, Constance smiled then raising her voice said, “And where were you, Stevenson, when these lessons were taking place below stairs?”

“I was there,
Your Grace. I saw what was going on and allowed it to continue,” Stevenson conceded.

“
Really? Whatever next?”

“It wasn’t anything to do with Stevenson, Aunt.”
Hope didn’t want anyone else to take the blame for her misdemeanour.

“
No, it was all to do with Beaumont, wasn’t it? Clearly this is his influence at work.” Constance indicated for the empty plates to be taken away.

“Not really. I taught my maid at home to read. We exchange letters.
Mama thought it was a good idea and encouraged me.” Hope wasn’t sure whether involving her mother was the best thing.

“I am too weary to
argue. You are a good woman, as is your mother in her unique way, and I am quite sure there is no reason for you not to go below stairs for this purpose. However, let us make sure Lady Padstock does not hear about this or we will be the talk of the neighbourhood for a very long time. Although I don’t think Lady Padstock will be finding fault with others for the time being. Now, Stevenson, what do we have for pudding?”

Later
Hope wrote in her journal with enthusiasm.

I am unable to believe I am allowed to continue with the lessons. Aunt Constance is hard to fathom. Sometimes everything has to be proper and sometimes we can do as we please and forget the proprieties. I am very happy, but wonder if I should still meet Beaumont dressed as Richard. Aunt Constance has been very good to me and I think she would collapse if she found out I was going into public dressed as a man… and to a gentlemen’s club. It is outrageous. Even I admit that. My heart pounds when I think about it. It is hard to imagine how I will feel when the time comes.

* * *

Fortune favoured Hope. On Thursday her aunt sent a message that she would be spending the morning in her room. She insisted she was quite well, just a little tired. She would meet Hope for afternoon tea and begged Hope’s forgiveness for her lack of attention.

Hope almost danced around the room, but feelings of guilt at her deception
and anxiety over her aunt’s constitution, prevented her from much jubilation. As she pulled the clothes from the trunk she realised they were not suitable for attending a gentlemen’s club. Why hadn’t she thought of that before? These clothes were the ones which were to be discarded as rags. Then she remembered the other clothing she had worn which had disappeared from her room.

She rang for her maid. “Edna, where are the clothes which I originally took from
Uncle Eustace’s room? Do you know?”

“
They are under my mattress. I didn’t know where to hide them so pushed them under there. No one will look. They are quite safe until you tell me what I should do with them.”

“I would like to see them. Please bring them here and then I would like to be left alone until it is time for tea.”

“Shall I bring you some luncheon?”

“No, thank you. I am bursting out of my new dresses so will try to eat a little less for a few days. Please fetch the clothes now.”

Moments later Hope studied her reflection. Any doubts she had were dispelled when she thought of Beaumont. With him by her side, she could do anything.

At the appointed hour, Hope left the house quietly and furtively. She had to remain positive that no one would see her and wonder who the unknown gentleman leaving Her Grace’s house was. After she’d gone a little way, she let out the breath she was holding and slowed down her pace. There was only a short distance to go before she would meet Beaumont at the entrance to the park. He had promised to accompany her to the club. When her heart hammered against her waistcoat, she knew it was the thought of seeing Beaumont which was causing it to beat so, rather than the excitement of attending a gentlemen’s club. What an adventure. She would confide to Mama all that occurred and was desperate not to miss out any detail as she would never again have the chance to relive it.

In
her mind she had a vague notion as to what it might look like and pictured several dark wooden, well-polished tables dotted about a large room with comfortable armchairs arranged around them. Some of the members would be sipping claret and reading the newspapers while others smoked their cigarettes and cigars. At the thought of tobacco, Hope was immediately reminded of James Henderson. Goodness, what would happen if he were at the club? She felt jittery at the idea. It was too late now to worry about who might see her; no one would recognise her, especially if she was in the company of Beaumont. Perhaps she would find out a little more about this mysterious man. She had no idea who his friends were. Moving along the street, she almost collided with someone and was about to make an apology.

“Richard, how are you? Are you going to the club?” It was Beaumont, of course, putting himself into an actor’s role.

Replying in kind, Hope said, “Yes, Beaumont. Shall we walk together?” It would be fine if he held her arm as they continued their journey. Oh dear, no it certainly would not! For an instant she had forgotten she was Richard rather than Hope. Her guard must not fall again for one moment.

Hope had no idea of their destination
address and was surprised when Beaumont stopped walking and she almost bumped into him. Their physical contact had her nerve endings tingling again. “Here we are at last. We can continue our conversation inside.”

As she followed Beaumont into the
inviolate masculine haven, Hope tried not to stare, but it was impossible. She wanted to record every detail in her mind so she could write about it and draw it later in the privacy of her rooms.

Beaumont indicated
that she stay near the door and he had a private word with someone who kept glancing at Hope until she felt like an exhibit at a museum or some such thing. Eventually, Beaumont returned to her side and directed her to a table which was just as she had imagined. Overjoyed, she sank into a deep armchair and looked about her.

“
They were curious about you as you’re not a member. I explained and now they think you’re a dignitary visiting from France,” said Beaumont, his eyes dancing.

“This visit is an honour
for me,” stated Hope.

“The
honour is all mine,” declared Beaumont. “Let me get you a drink. What do you prefer: port, whisky, brandy? And a cigar, I think.”

Hope could feel the colour drain from her cheeks at the thought. “No, indeed,” she said, “
I do not smoke and rarely drink alcohol. Is there a cordial or coffee I may have?”

“I’m sure there is,” laughed Beaumont. He lifted a hand to the waiter and placed their order. “What do you think of the exclusive gentlemen’s club? Is it how you imagined it to be?”

“In some ways it is, yes. But what do they do here? Apart from drink and read and smoke? Many of the members appear to be on their own. Why can’t they remain at home?”

“They are in like company. Some live
alone, like me. We come for companionship and also to dine. Isn’t that why
we
are here?”

“Of course,” replied Hope.
“There’s a lot to see too.” Hope looked around her again noticing the other gentlemen. Most of them were old and grey or old and bald, but there were a few younger ones.

“We shall ask for the menu when the waiter returns. Ah, here he is and he has one with him; he knows my habits well. Thank you, Canterbury
.”

They leaned
forward to read the selections for the day. Hope was aware of Beaumont’s proximity which made her feel quite giddy. Would she ever get used to being near him? Then she remembered he had said he was going away. She nearly collapsed at the thought.

“Richard, are you quite well? You’re trembling. Either you’re hungry or you’ve a cold coming.”

“I, I expect I’m hungry, Beaumont,” Hope managed. “What do you recommend?”

“The soup’s good. I’m starting with that. Then I recommend either the
roast pork or the chicken.”

“The soup will be adequate I feel sure.”

“Perhaps you will change your mind when your digestion gets working. Young men like you generally have good appetites.” Beaumont met her eyes with his and winked.

Shocked
, Hope averted her gaze. Just then someone approached them and gabbled a garbled speech. It was all in French and she barely understood one word of it. She dared not risk a look at Beaumont. Whatever could she do? The gentleman paused in his monologue and waited, presumably for a reply.