Читать книгу The Regency Season: Ruined Reputations - Mary Brendan - Страница 13

Chapter Five

‘Who’s the handsome stranger?’ Betty asked in her forthright way, having assessed Beatrice’s tortured expression. ‘I’ve not seen him here before but I reckon he knows you...and rather well in my opinion.’ She wiped her damp hands on her pinafore then plonked them on her ample hips.

Beatrice had closed the kitchen door and then her eyes while leaning against the panels, her head tilted up in an attempt to control her whirling thoughts. She pushed away from her support and with a sigh took a seat at the floury-topped table. ‘He’s a good friend of the viscount’s,’ she finally answered, picking up a warm biscuit from the dozen or so cooling on a rack. Beatrice loved a freshly baked treacle biscuit and usually would have taken a greedy bite and got a ticking off from Betty for not letting it set properly. But she put it back, unable to quell the queasiness in her stomach spoiling her appetite.

‘So...this fellow is also a friend of yours, is he, Miss Beatrice?’ Betty crossed her arms over her chest, awaiting a reply.

‘Once he was...or I thought as much. But I was wrong about him as well.’ Beatrice frowned at her fingers, clasped in front of her on the table. She’d banished Colin from her mind and refused to mention his name. ‘Would you put the kettle on, Betty? Mr Kendrick has done the viscount a good turn by conveying news from London. He deserves some tea before setting off home.’

The housekeeper gave Beatrice an old-fashioned look. ‘I’ll do that for him, and I’ll even bring him along a few of those.’ She tipped her head at the biscuits. ‘No matter what your father thinks of the fellow, I took to him— ’cos he’s a gentleman not too high and mighty to give a hand to the likes of me.’

‘He hasn’t always been a wealthy man, so I expect he is used to fetching and carrying for himself,’ Beatrice murmured, almost to herself.

‘Sometimes them that comes late to luxury are the worst sort, with their penny-pinching and lording it. They don’t want to go back to scrimping and scraping, and doffing caps, you see. He’s not like that. I’d stake my life on it.’ Betty imparted her wisdom on the subject of upstarts.

Bea planted an elbow on the tabletop and sank her sharp little chin into a palm. She couldn’t agree with Betty’s estimation of Mr Kendrick’s modesty. She’d seen a very imperious glint in his eyes earlier that had impressed upon her, almost as much as had his cool tone of voice, that he was no longer the ordinary man she’d once known...and loved.

‘Off you go, then, and keep him company and I’ll be along directly.’ The housekeeper nodded at the door.

‘I think I’d sooner stay here with you and wait till the tea’s brewed.’

‘I know you would,’ Betty said. ‘That’s why I reckon you should go and sit with him and show him what you’re made of.’ She wagged a finger. ‘You, Miss Beatrice, are not a coward. If I can tell he frightens you I reckon he already knows.’

‘He does not frighten me!’ Beatrice asserted, sitting straight in the chair and blinking at Betty.

‘In that case you’ll remember your manners and have a nice chat about the weather with him while the kettle boils,’ Betty returned bossily. ‘I’ll be by in about ten minutes with a hot pot of tea and a plate of biscuits.’ She turned away. ‘But those two in the front parlour aren’t getting any; Vicar’s wife maybe, but not a charitable bone in her body by my reckoning. And the daughter’s not much better.’

Betty glanced over her shoulder as she heard the chair scrape back. Her puckered features softened in a smile as she watched Beatrice marching towards the door, a determined set to her full mouth.

‘Tea won’t be long...do sit down, sir.’

Beatrice had entered the morning room to find Hugh standing by the unlit fire, contemplating the view through the window. His long fingers were drumming on the oak mantelpiece, making him seem impatient, and Bea wondered if he’d decide to leave without waiting for refreshment. The idea that he might depart before she’d proved to him her indifference to his arrival prompted her to burst out with some conversation.

‘I hope that the dowager will soon recover. I have only met her once or twice but found her to be very nice,’ Beatrice rattled off. She had decided to steer their chat in the direction of mutual concerns. In that way she might avoid his hard stares and lazy mockery. ‘My father will be sad to hear that she’s ailing. He also likes Alex’s mother...’

‘I’ll attempt to find out how she managed to charm him,’ Hugh remarked dryly. He strolled to an armchair and sat down.

Beatrice perched on a seat opposite, inwardly sighing that she’d suffered an early defeat. ‘How are your family keeping, sir?’ she asked brightly, recollecting that he had a younger married sister. ‘Have you nephews or nieces?’

‘One of each,’ Hugh replied, sitting back and planting a dusty boot atop one knee. His fingers curled close to his mouth and he regarded her through dropped lashes. He knew she was anxious to avoid answering personal questions but, vulgar as his curiosity might be, he wanted to hear from her own lips that her wedding was off.

Elise’s urgent summons to the countryside, taken together with Walter Dewey’s recent bitter comments about scoundrels upsetting his daughters, pointed to the fact that Beatrice was not after all getting married. Hugh wanted her to tell him herself, because in that way he could judge her reaction and whether she had instigated the break-up with Dr Burnett.

‘How old are your sister’s children?’ Beatrice doggedly continued, keeping an eye on the clock. Betty had said she would bring the tea in ten minutes; Bea was sure that five must already have passed. Yet the hands seemed to have crawled only fractionally about the face of the timepiece ticking on the wall.

‘Luke is seven and Lucinda five.’

‘Such nice names,’ Beatrice remarked, on realising he wasn’t about to add anything to the drawled information. Abruptly she got to her feet. ‘I should open the door wider for Mrs Francis or she will struggle entering with the tray. Indeed...I should carry it for her...’

Bea had a plausible excuse to escape the strained atmosphere, but Betty’s warning about acting cowardly rang in her ears, holding her on the spot. Today there’d been nothing in Hugh Kendrick’s behaviour to which she might take serious offence. So far he’d been unfailingly civil... And yet she knew Betty had spoken the truth: she was fearful of him, and not simply because he might at any moment launch an unwanted question at her.

The fever on her flesh where his hands had been, the butterflies circling in her stomach, all were indications that she was not immune to this man, and she dearly wanted to be. It might be three years since they’d kissed and caressed one another but the memory of it was strengthening with every minute that passed. There was an unbearable tension between them and she knew he too was dwelling on that shared intimacy.

Never had Colin Burnett kissed her so hard and long that a vivid colour had stained her lips for hours. Never had he, during their long engagement, pulled open her bodice and drawn whimpers of delight from her when his mouth teased her breasts.

In a brief courtship Hugh Kendrick had done those things and more before it had all turned to ashes.

But he was different now, and she must be too. Behind the screen of his long lashes amusement was competing with lust in his hazel eyes. He might still desire her but he no doubt found his younger self—and hers—risible in hindsight. He now possessed riches...and power and influence. She could tell that from his every mannerism and utterance. He was no longer a man used to being denied what he wanted, whereas once everything...even she as his wife...had been out of his reach. Now, of course, he could pick and choose from society debutantes for a bride.

Well, she wouldn’t want him as a husband now! Beatrice inwardly exhorted herself. Her papa was right: even had he raced here on hearing she was free, to beg her to accept his proposal, she’d not have him! He’d had his chance and could go away, back to his fine life, and leave her in peace. She had earlier said to her father and sister that she’d done with men and marriage and she’d meant it. The idea of living out her days as a spinster, doting on her nephew rather than her own offspring, was not a vastly depressing future.

She moistened her lips, feeling calmer and ready to force out a little more conversation. ‘I shall no doubt hear Betty approaching.’ Beatrice returned to her chair and sat down. ‘There is no need to leave you alone again.’

‘Thank you...’

Beatrice shot him a look, noting his ironic tone, but if he wanted to interrogate her, let him. She now felt prepared for any challenge he might throw down.

‘The weather is cool for the time of the year.’ Bea again broke the silence, irked that she was the one making all the effort to be sociable. ‘Have you a little conversation about your journey?’ she suggested with faux sweetness. ‘For instance...did you drive here or come on horseback?’ She again glanced at the snugly fitting dusty jacket encasing his broad shoulders. She imagined his valet would be horrified to see the state of it.

‘Horseback; it seemed the quickest way to travel with urgent news.’

‘And did it rain during the journey?’ Beatrice asked, causing him to smile.

‘Just a few spots...’

‘Oh...well, I’m glad you kept dry at least.’

‘I appreciate your concern.’

Again Beatrice flicked an acid look at him from beneath her lashes, then glanced at the clock. Fifteen minutes had passed. She hoped Betty was not deliberately hanging things out because she had taken to Hugh Kendrick and wanted him to stay a while...

‘Do I make you nervous, Beatrice?’

Bea snapped her sapphire eyes to his watching gaze. ‘Of course not! What makes you think that, sir?’

‘I fear you are about to wrench apart that handkerchief.’ He jerked a nod at the scrap of linen, taut between her rigid fingers.

She’d unconsciously been twisting it for minutes. Quickly she tossed aside the thing that had betrayed her.

‘I should leave and let you get back to your guests.’ Hugh stood up.

‘No!’ Beatrice jumped to her feet, instinctively stepping towards him. ‘Please—’ She broke off, unsure of what she had been about to say but realising that she honestly did not want him to go yet. ‘I could not in all conscience allow you to journey home without something to drink. Would you prefer a glass of port? You have come a very long way with unpleasant tidings.’

‘I believe you were already dealing with an unpleasant matter and I’ve made things worse.’ He drove his hands into his pockets, tilting his head to watch her averted expression. ‘Were you, Beatrice, dealing with a family crisis when I turned up?’

‘No...’ She swung a beautifully poised mien towards him. ‘I am no longer marrying Dr Burnett, so there has been something for us, as a family, to discuss, but it’s done now.’ She fluttered a gesture. ‘No crisis at all...far too strong a word for the situation...’

Hugh stared out of the large casement at the garden. ‘The man’s a damnable fool.’

Beatrice moistened her lips, mortified that from her casual explanation he’d easily deduced that she’d been jilted rather than the other way around.

He pivoted on a heel, gave a self-deprecating laugh. ‘You seem unlucky enough to attract such types and I’m sure you don’t deserve to, my dear.’

‘You know nothing about me now. Please do not feel obliged to embroider your condolences.’

Beatrice realised it was high time to show him out before the annoying lump in her throat choked her. Why was she feeling close to tears because he’d said something nice about her and offered his sympathy?

Without asking if he would oblige, the housekeeper came in, holding out the tray for Hugh to carry to the table. She also gave him a smile and, Beatrice was sure, a wink. A moment later Betty had withdrawn, leaving a silence that was shattered within seconds by the clock chiming.

Beatrice busied herself pouring tea. ‘Please be seated again, if you wish.’ Suddenly voices in the hallway drew her attention. ‘The vicar’s wife and daughter are leaving...’

‘I’m sorry I kept you from them,’ Hugh murmured, choosing to prop himself against the mantelpiece rather than take a chair.

For the first time since he’d arrived they exchanged a proper smile.

‘Please don’t apologise, sir, for their company was no loss on my part, I assure you.’ Bea put a cup of tea near the five bronzed fingers splayed on the mantelshelf.

‘I’m certain your father and sister did sterling work on your behalf.’

‘They are both protective of me and will see off the tattlers.’ Beatrice sipped tea, placing down her cup with an unsteady hand that rattled together china. ‘Mrs Callan and her daughter wished to let me know how shocked and sorry they are to hear I’m to remain a spinster, so are bound to be disappointed to have lost my company after just a few minutes. But I would not have our neighbours...or anybody for that matter...think that I am hiding away, embarrassed and heartbroken, so must go over to the vicarage later in the week to allow their sympathy full rein.’

Hugh smiled. ‘And are you? Heartbroken, I mean? You’re too fine to allow that dolt Burnett to embarrass you...’

‘Why bother asking how I feel now? You didn’t care before!’ Bea cried, before sinking her small teeth in her lower lip to stem the list of accusations ready to be launched at him. Abruptly she turned and snatched up the plate of treacle biscuits, bitterly regretting that she’d let her suppressed anger at his defection, rather than Colin’s, simmer and boil over. ‘Please, have a biscuit. Betty would like you to...’ She slid the plate next to his untasted tea on the oak mantel.

‘Of course I damn well cared!’ Hugh gritted out, curving his fingers over her forearm to keep her close when she would have swished away. ‘Did you believe me that callous?’

Bea prised away his fingers from her body, flinging him off when he would have kept her hand imprisoned in his. But there was a smile pinned to her lips when she said, ‘I’m sorry, sir...please think nothing more of it. I’m just a little on edge after recent events or would not have spoken so.’

She made a concerted effort to still her madly drumming heart. She would not allow him, or any man, to make her act like a hysterical harpy. She had, just an hour or two ago, felt relatively at peace with the prospect of returning to her life as a spinster and living at home with her father. Now, since Hugh Kendrick’s arrival, old yearnings and emotions that she’d thought she’d successfully conquered were again pricking at her mind, making her feel restless.

‘I must not keep you any longer,’ she blurted. ‘I expect you will want to speak to Alex before he heads off to see his mother...’

A skewed smile was Hugh’s reaction to being summarily dismissed. ‘Perhaps I should not have made my presence known to your guests earlier,’ he said quietly. ‘Will our absence from the parlour have given rise to more speculation and added to your troubles?’

Bea had been occupying her nervous fingers by shifting crockery to and fro on the tray. Now she turned about with a frown. ‘I admit I had not thought of that...’ And I should have. The phrase rotated slowly in her mind. She’d concentrated on the Callans being absorbed by her jilting, but of course they’d also be intrigued to have the details of what had kept Miss Dewey and Mr Kendrick elsewhere in the house during their visit. Mrs Callan was renowned for an ability to craft a salacious rumour from little other than her own imagination...

‘Your family are sure to have explained the situation,’ Hugh reassured her. ‘It would indeed be a travesty if you were to be the subject of conjecture because of me when nothing at all exists between us...does it?’

‘Nothing at all,’ Bea fervently endorsed. ‘And, as you say, my sister and father would have made that quite clear when explaining that I was attending to your needs...your hospitality,’ she quickly amended, managing a fleeting smile despite his amused expression acknowledging her infelicity. ‘Besides, in a short while people will no longer be interested in me but chasing new and more interesting tales.’

Unfortunately Beatrice knew that was not strictly true in this neck of the woods: London might boast fresh scandals every week, but in the sticks it might be six months or more before the old biddies found something as entertaining as Beatrice Dewey’s being jilted to chew over at their afternoon get-togethers. They’d also be intrigued to know that soon after the cancellation of her wedding to Dr Burnett she’d been having a private talk with a handsome stranger.

Bea raised a hand to her throbbing brow, realising she was not quite as indifferent to cruel gossip as she’d believed herself to be. If a rumour started, and travelled to London, that shortly after being jilted she’d tried to charm Hugh Kendrick, she’d be mortified...especially if he got to hear of it...

‘I’m setting off in a moment. Do you fancy a lift back to town? You can tether your mount to the curricle.’ Alex had given a cough to herald his arrival before fully entering the morning room and addressing his friend. Behind him came his wife, using a knuckle between Adam’s soft lips to pacify him.

‘He is hungry, and wet too. I shall take him upstairs.’ Elise gazed into her husband’s face. ‘Promise you will come and say goodbye before leaving.’

Alex cupped his wife’s cheek with a loving hand. It was answer enough for Elise and she went off, content.

‘So...you are still here, Mr Kendrick.’ Walter limped into the room. ‘I believe I mistook the reason for your arrival, sir. I’ve learned you have done my son-in-law a good deed and for that I’m grateful.’

Hugh bowed, accepting the oblique apology for his host’s earlier brusqueness.

‘Drink your tea, then, and stay to dine if you wish. I can see that Beatrice has been keeping you company and holds no argument with you. So I cannot either, I suppose,’ Walter grumpily concluded.

‘Thank you, but I am setting on the road again.’ Hugh graciously declined Walter’s off-hand invitation.

Walter shrugged and ambled off towards his study.

‘I shall also take my leave,’ Beatrice said. ‘I wish you both a safe journey, and please give the dowager my best wishes for a speedy recovery.’

Her brother-in-law received a spontaneous hug, Hugh a formal bob. A moment later she was slipping from the room, only fleetingly hesitating at the door to discover if Hugh was watching her.

He was. And it hadn’t gone unnoticed by Alex either.

‘Don’t even think of a dalliance there, or you’ll have me to answer to this time, not her father.’

Hugh dispassionately met his friend’s steady gaze. ‘I get the distinct impression that Miss Dewey finds it difficult to tolerate my company. There’ll be no repeat of what went on, trust me.’ He hesitated, then strolled to the window. ‘Does she know about my life in India?’

‘I’ve not had reason to tell my wife all of it, so I doubt Bea knows much at all other than that you’re now rich from your Indian mines. Neither, I hope, is she interested in any of it.’

Hugh nodded slowly, lips thinning in a grim smile.

‘Are you thinking of cutting off your ties abroad?’

Hugh’s sharp glance answered Alex before he heard his friend’s reply. ‘My ties in India are permanent and non-negotiable.’

‘That’s what I thought...’ Alex said deceptively mildly. ‘So I repeat...stay away from my sister-in-law or suffer the consequences...’

A moment later it was as though no tense exchange had taken place between them.

Alex said, ‘I want to get going. Norman Francis will bring your horse round from the stable and we can be on the road in ten minutes...’