Jess shook his head.
“They were Irish beauties,” Michael explained, “with little but their beauty to recommend them. They came to London at the end of the last century and walked away with prize matches. Much has changed, but Cecilia Brent’s reputation is intact. She will not be at a loss for suitors.”
“Unless Destry beats them off.”
“Or wins her hand first.”
“Yes,” Jess agreed. “That’s more likely. That ridiculous horse race where each was willing to lose to bolster the other’s confidence is proof there is more between them than friendship. Or could be.” Jess wondered if Destry might be talking with Mr. Brent right now.
“I didn’t hear about that. Is that why the race took so long?”
“No,” Jess said. “Destry explained it all to me. Before they found Crenshaw they were at a standstill because each intended for the other to win.”
Garrett laughed, a sincere laugh. “It sounds as though the only person Destry must now convince is Cecilia’s father. I expect that will be a fairly easy conversation. Surely the absurdity of his sidesaddle ride has faded in the light of all that has followed. And the man will be a duke someday.”
“That sounds convincing. How about if you speak for me when Brent arrives?”
“I think not, brother.” Garrett shook his head slowly but with conviction.
“So,” Jess began, returning to his own personal headache. “I do not have to offer for Beatrice Brent simply because we spent an hour alone together and I touched her intimately.”
Garrett pursed his lips but managed to restrain any comment.
“To walk away from her is in keeping with my general reputation for avoiding responsibility of any kind.” But it felt all wrong. He shrugged. “If I thought Beatrice and I could make a marriage of convenience and then live separate lives it might work, but she is so damn curious about every little thing, I have this unholy picture of her as queen of every gaming hell from here to London within the year.”
“Why does that bother you? It’s been your life’s work.”
Garrett could hit with true aim when he wanted to. “It bothers me because she is a terrible gamer and I
would spend all my time making money to cover her losses.”
“So why not stop making wagers on cards and find something else on which to gamble?”
“What the hell does that mean?” Jess turned away from Garrett, uncomfortable with the direction of their conversation.
Garrett came over to stand closer to him.
“Your brother David is taking a huge chance on his cotton mill. It opened last month.”
“David spent years lost in Mexico. He is hardly a model for conventional living.” There was that word again. Now that he thought about it none of the Pennistans were conventional.
“I’m not suggesting that you go into partnership with him, but he has set a precedent for a Pennistan going into business.”
“So you think I should let her return to Birmingham when her father’s aim has been to raise his daughter’s position in society?”
Garrett laughed and then coughed to cover it. “Yes, after all, what level are you going to raise her to? At least her father makes some contribution to the world. Jess, not to put too fine a point on it, but Olivia contributes more to the world than you do.”
Jess felt his face redden. What did it say about his life that this confidant thought he was wasting it?
“Think about it awhile.” Garrett put a hand on Jess’s shoulder and Jess felt some of his embarrassment ease. “Think about why making a change in order to save Beatrice from a gaming hell matters to you.”
He didn’t want to, because it would mean that he loved her. Why should the truth hurt so much?
“Think about taking a chance on something bigger than the turn of a card.”
He had no idea what that could be. Was there any point in trying to talk to David about it?
“Brent will not come to you this evening. He will see you in the morning when both the countess and I hope that cooler heads will prevail.”
“Why did you not tell me that when you came into the room?”
“I wanted to hear your thoughts on the subject when you were under pressure. There is so much less opportunity to prevaricate.”
“Your life as a spy bleeds through, Michael.”
“Yes, the experience does have its uses.”
“I
HAVE HEARD
the story from the countess. Beatrice, you have disgraced yourself beyond all imagining.” Her father towered over her, his anger only adding to his stature. Her own upset made her feel as though she were shriveling before his eyes.
“I am sorry, Papa, but I could not allow Lord Jessup to lie to protect me.”
“And why not?”
“Because he might have been accused of murder. Is that not obvious?”
“Do not talk to me that way or I will take a switch to you. Something I should have done a long time ago.”
“Papa, please,” Cecilia began.
He raised his hand in a familiar “say no more” gesture. “Leave the room, Cecilia. Your sister does not need your protection.”
“Papa, you just this minute threatened to take a
switch to her,” Cecilia protested, and her father looked at her as if she had sprouted feathers and was squawking.
“What happened to my biddable daughter? I see you are taking lessons from your sister, when it should be the other way around.”
“I love you, Papa, and I am sorry that you are upset,” Cecilia began, but her father cut her off.
“Upset does not begin to cover the rage I feel at Beatrice and at Pennistan. If we were equals I would challenge him to a duel for his insult to my daughter’s virtue.”
“It was not his fault,” Beatrice insisted, but in a small voice that did not carry conviction. She cleared her throat and went on. “He warned me away more than once. Truly he did.” It was her own fascination that had been her undoing. “I never thought about the consequences if he lost his control.”
“How honest of you to admit that you are that selfish. You do realize that your behavior may have cost your sister her chance to marry well.”
This brought tears to her eyes. “I know everyone is upset right now, but I am praying that in time everyone will see that it was my fault and not Cecilia’s.”
“I want your promise, your word, Beatrice, that you will stay in your room until we leave for home, and when we return to Birmingham you will behave as your mother taught you.” He was angry still, and though he was not precisely shouting at her, his tone was hardly civil.
Bringing up Mama was the final knife in her heart. Her tears spilled onto her cheeks. She looked at Cecilia, who was tearful as well, her eyes begging Beatrice
to agree. “Yes, Papa, I will come home with you as soon as you wish.”
“And I have your word that you will stay in this room and think about your failings?”
She had been hoping he would forget that. “Yes, Papa, but sir, I would ask that you speak with Lord Jess.” She stepped back, afraid of how he might react to that.
“Oh, I will speak to him, but if you happen to see him you will ignore him, shun him to the point of rudeness. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir,” Beatrice replied without argument, anxious to make her point. “But, Father, there is so much more to the story of his involvement in Lord Crenshaw’s divorce. Cecilia, tell him that I am speaking the truth.”
Before Cecilia could answer, her father made a sound of disgust. “Good God, I had forgotten all about that.”
He had? And she was the one who had reminded him. What a dismal failure she was as a peacemaker.
“All the more reason to refuse to consider him if he does the right thing and offers for you.”
“If he what?” She understood the words but it took a moment for them to sink in. “I do not want to marry him if he only proposes because it is expected of him!”
“Enough!” her father bellowed. “You will marry him if I tell you to! Come, Cecilia, I do not want you influenced by your sister any more than necessary.”
Cecilia started. “Yes, Papa.” With a last look at Beatrice, her eyes spoke for her.
I will champion you, sister, I promise
.
Beatrice nodded, understanding the unspoken pledge.
Her father and sister left the room, though his shouted words still bounced off the walls.
Stay in her room? She would obey him on that. Sitting down again, Beatrice did what any woman so estranged from her family would do. She began to cry.
“N
OW IS NOT
a good time to speak with my father, William.” He had stopped her in the hall. It was an awkward place to converse, but public enough. Cecilia tried to stop wringing her hands. “What do you want to say, anyway?”
“Did you not hear what I told you today?”
“Yes,” she said, staring at the marble floor, which was far easier than looking him in the eyes.
“And does the thought of me courting you fill you with disgust?”
“No!” She looked at him now. “But to declare yourself when it is one-sided is too impulsive.”
“Is it that you cannot love me or that it’s too soon to know?”
“Too soon,” she whispered. Someone had to control this impulsiveness. Between her sister, Jess, and William it seemed to be an epidemic around here.
“But not impossible?”
She knew her hesitation was a mistake. He pounced on it.
“Then I want to speak to your father today. Tell him of my interest at least.” Destry was trying to vent his energy by pacing the hall. “The house party is over. We will all be leaving as soon as we can make arrangements.”
“And it would be too inconvenient for you to travel to Birmingham to talk to him at some future date?”
“If I wait a month and call on you at home, I fear you will have forgotten me.”
“Do not be absurd. Forgetting you would be like forgetting that the sun rises every day.”
William brightened at that analogy. Perhaps she should not have said that, but it had erased the wounded look that made his smile disappear and his eyes grow sad.
“Listen to me, William. Papa is not in the mood to honor the wishes of anyone with connections to society.” Cecilia paused and reconsidered, then tried again. “What I mean is that as much as he wants me to marry well, Papa would not be receptive right now. Not after the way Mrs. Wilson treated him at breakfast this morning.”
When her father had come in and wished the group “Good morning,” Mrs. Wilson had set her cup in the saucer with a clank that should have broken it, stood up, and left the room without a word.
William paused in his pacing and made a noise suspiciously like a snort. “Mrs. Wilson was unforgivably rude to your father and that is the first thing I will tell him.”
“It would be better not to mention it.” Cecilia forced herself to stop wringing her hands.
“All right, I’ll do as you suggest and not mention it,” he agreed, not pausing in his movement from one end of the hall to the other. “I will even wait to speak to him if you think it better.”
“You will do as I ask?” How amazing. No one ever did what she suggested.
“And if you are worried about Jane Wilson spoiling your entrée into society, she will not. She is only one. The support of the other guests here will be all you need.” He stopped his constant pacing and stepped onto the hearth so they were eye-to-eye. “It pains me to say that.” He paused and then hurried on. “The truth is that I fear if you have a Season you will find someone you like better.” His warm brown eyes were intent and he was smiling but she could sense his uncertainty.
“That would be impossible, William. Where else could I find a man willing to ride sidesaddle or allow me to win a race? Or one who will actually listen to what I am saying?” Oh dear, that sounded too much like a declaration and she was sure, almost sure, it was too soon to know her feelings, or even his.
“I almost believe you, Cecilia, but then I remember that I am barely five feet tall and think that, yes, indeed, I am hard to forget. Though easy to ignore.”
“William, feeling sorry for yourself will draw no sympathy from me. Your height is no more important than my beauty. You have convinced me of that.”
“I have?” His anxiety disappeared, replaced by a smile that lit his whole face.
“Yes, you have.” She loved it when he smiled, the way it lit his eyes and dimpled his cheeks.
“Then let me move on to the next conviction that I wish you to share.”
“Oh dear,” she said with a little laugh. “Is this list very long?”
“No. As a matter of fact, if I can convince you of this first one then the rest will most likely evaporate.”
“Do begin.”
She sat on the sofa and composed herself. He stepped down from the hearth and stood in front of her.
“The way you handled our discovery of Lord Crenshaw was masterful. Most women would have swooned. And if they did not faint dead away, they would have argued with me about what to do. You did not. You kept your head, did what I asked, and made a very difficult situation a little more manageable.”
“Thank you. It was simply the right thing to do. I did lose my composure later.” Honesty compelled her to admit that.
“No one would expect less of a woman with even the slightest sensibility.”
“Thank you again, but you know a compliment like that is not hard to accept.”
“Cecilia, this next one might be. You behaved exactly as a duchess should.”
She closed her eyes, feeling as though she had been led into a trap.
“Do you want me to list the ways you have proved your worth?”
She shook her head, eyes still closed.
“Wait, I have a better way to prove it.”
Cecilia smiled a little, wondering what his next proof would be. Then she felt the press of his lips on hers. His hands were on her shoulders holding her still as though he was afraid she might push him away.
His kiss was the sweetest touch she’d ever felt. More than sweet. It was perfection. She felt as if she had come home and found everything she had ever longed for.
She made some sound, or he did, and pressed her lips
to his lest he think she wanted him to stop. His hands slid down her arms and hers went round his waist.
William kissed her again and again, his mouth never leaving hers. The tingling in her head and heart moved lower, until she could not hold him close enough.