‘You are very handsome,’ the girl said gravely, looking her full in the face.
Bea hoped her answer did not come out as a squeak. ‘Oh! Er… thank you. So are you.’ She was all too aware that she was blushing furiously, and rushed into rapid speech in a no-doubt futile effort to conceal the fact. ‘I had an offer or two, it’s true. More. But I refused them all. Once my three older sisters were settled, and could help provide for us, marriage was not the desperate necessity for me that it had been for them. My second sister Viola married a man thirty years her senior, and was most unhappy with him. I am glad to say that I was forced into no such disagreeable situation.’
Miss Pallant’s answering smile was perfectly feline, showing a glimpse of even, white teeth. There was not another human being for a mile or more; they could not have been more alone if they had been on the moon. ‘Were all your suitors thirty years your senior?’
‘No. One or two of them were young, and handsome enough, and even amiable.’
‘And yet you refused them.’
‘Like you, if I understand you correctly, Miss Pallant, I do not mean to marry. Ever.’
‘I think you do indeed understand me correctly,’ Vivienne said. And then she leaned forward and kissed Bea, full on the mouth.
It was the briefest of contact, a mere brush of warm, butterfly-soft lips over hers, and Miss Constantine might easily have told herself that she had imagined it, so deeply had she desired it. But she knew she hadn’t. It was real. Her blood was roaring in her ears; she must be quite scarlet.
‘People can see… For miles around, people could see us, if they happened to look,’ she said, sounding perfectly stupid to herself.
‘I know. I think it’s rather thrilling, but dangerous, I do agree. I will call on you so that we may be more private together, and further our acquaintance. Soon,’ Miss Pallant said tantalisingly, and then she turned and left, walking surprisingly swiftly over the sand in the direction of her home, her trim figure receding into the distance. Bea stood staring after her for a long while, but she did not look back.
20
Cecilia paid for her purchases with seven shiny guineas, which was another new experience for her, and arranged delivery of the furniture for the next morning. One of Mr Marjoram’s harassed assistants promised that the china would be wrapped up with extreme care, ready for the ladies to take home with them in the dog cart’s capacious storage compartment in half an hour or so.
This gave them the perfect excuse to explore the town. The main streets led down a slight slope to the river, which was lined with the masts of small vessels, currently sticking up all askew because the tide was out. Some of the buildings were of great antiquity, leaning across the street as if to allow the inhabitants on each side to shake hands or kiss, while others were modern, classical and regular. There were any number of small emporia of all types, and Cecilia had been just about to lose Miss Macintyre to a tempting half-timbered bookshop, possibly forever, when she heard, ‘Miss Constantine!’ uttered in confident, masculine tones, and turned in surprise to see who could be addressing her. Her companion sighed gustily, as if to say that life was ever thus, and stood ready to chaperone her charge as fiercely as might be necessary.
Cecilia had known it wasn’t Major Bartrum, whose voice she would have recognised. This person sounded refined, polished, and civil. And indeed, an excessively handsome gentleman she’d never seen before in her life was standing close by her, smiling and bowing. He had a companion at his elbow, who’d also raised his hat in greeting.
‘I apologise for addressing you so shockingly in the public street, ma’am,’ the older of the pair said smoothly. ‘But perhaps my excuse may be that my sister, Miss Pallant, has already called on you, so that I feel I know you already.’
‘Hmm!’ said Miss Macintyre sceptically, eyeing him with no great air of indulgence.
‘I am so sorry, ladies, if you do indeed think me disgracefully forward,’ he said with charming frankness, blue eyes sparkling, not in the least put off by the cool reception. ‘But let me rectify the omission. You can scarcely say that you do not mean to know me, you must be aware, because polite society in this benighted part of the world is so very limited that if you do not intend to be on calling terms with us, you will find yourself on calling terms with almost nobody, and entirely deprived of rational society. Furthermore, you have met my sister and cannot therefore fail to observe the resemblance. I am Lord Pallant, entirely at your service, and this is my scapegrace of a brother, Sebastian. You are Miss Macintyre, of course, and – I venture – the younger Miss Constantine.’
‘I am Cecilia Constantine,’ she said, bowing politely. ‘I am the middle one, in fact, not the youngest. We were very pleased to make your sister’s acquaintance the other day; you are quite right, we know almost nobody, so it was good of her to call.’
Perhaps social customs were more informal in the country than in London, she thought rather doubtfully as she spoke. But this gentleman was correct to say that his face was his introduction. At any rate, since his sister was indeed known to them, and had been received into their house, it would be foolishly old-fashioned to refuse to accept the connection now. It would not do to be thought disagreeably proud and standoffish by their new neighbours from the outset, especially since they must all know by now that the Constantines had not been of a particularly exalted station in life before their sudden good fortune had occurred.
Though it should not matter, it could not be denied that Lord Pallant was one of the handsomest men she had ever laid eyes on, in Town or anywhere else. Like his sister, he was tall, fair and of chiselled features, and his riding dress was elegantly cut, if a little carelessly worn. He might be thirty, she imagined, or a little more. Sebastian resembled him very strongly, and was perhaps Cecilia’s own age. He looked a mere boy in his brother’s company, and he was restless, apparently finding it difficult to stand still, fidgeting with the short riding whip he held and darting glances about him, as if to see who might be passing and observing them.
But nobody could fault the older gentleman’s manners, if they were of a mind to overlook his first presumptuous approach.
‘Are you returning to the inn?’ he asked. ‘Perhaps you will allow us to escort you?’
Miss Macintyre sighed, casting a regretful glance back at the fascinating bookshop window, so near and yet so far. ‘I suppose it is time to leave,’ she said rather grudgingly. ‘We can always come here again another day, when we are at more leisure, since once I go in there, I do realise that it will be no easy task for anybody to lure me out again. We have goods to collect from the auction rooms, though, sir; we do not go directly to the inn.’
‘Then I shall take you there!’ he said gallantly.
Cecilia might have chosen to point out that they were perfectly able to go alone, since their destination was perhaps ten minutes’ easy walk away, and an attack by footpads in the centre of the sleepy Suffolk town in broad daylight seemed unlikely. But she did not. There was no harm in accepting these gentlemen’s escort through the streets of Debenbridge, and it was not entirely clear to her – though it might have been to her old governess – how precisely she would set about getting rid of them if she had conceived a violent objection to their company.
The pavements, which were made of wooden setts that raised pedestrians a little way above the common street, were not wide enough to permit four people to walk abreast. She found herself with her hand on Lord Pallant’s arm; Sebastian was ahead of them, squiring Miss Macintyre, though a glimpse of his petulant, discontented face had suggested he wasn’t particularly happy about it and would far rather have accompanied her instead.
His Lordship had excellent address, unlike his brother, and they maintained an easy flow of conversation; he asked her how she found Suffolk thus far, and she confessed that she had seen very little of it, since their attention had been largely taken up by matters to do with the house till now.
‘This shocking omission must be rectified, and soon, while the fine weather holds,’ he declared gaily. ‘Perhaps we can organise an expedition of pleasure; my siblings and myself, and all three Misses Constantine. There would be no earthly need for chaperonage in such unexceptional circumstances, so the redoubtable Miss Macintyre could be left at her leisure, no doubt in the company of Burns or Scott or another of her admirable countrymen. You may have observed that there is a ruined castle on the edge of the village, an easy climb that offers fine views along the coast. It makes a picturesque spot for a picnic, and for sketching, if that is something you care for. What do you think, Miss Cecilia?’
‘That sounds delightful. I do not sketch, but one of my sisters does.’ What else could she say, after all? ‘I must consult them, though; it would not be fair to commit them to an engagement without their knowledge.’
‘Of course. Please do so, and we can arrange a date, if they are agreeable. As you must already have observed, Vivienne is forever tramping about the beach in a most energetic fashion; she can call one day soon and see when will be convenient for you all. We will hold ourselves at your disposition.’
