Page 16 of Cupid Comes to Little Valentine

“No, that's why you dragged my sorry carcass here. I had no say in the matter,” Beau grumbled, picking up the glass of wine before realising he couldn’t face it. His stomach twisted at the very idea. Frustrated, he set it back down with a clatter.

“No, that’s right, I should have left you to die in London and made no effort to help you. Don’t you worry, my lord, I’ll know better next time. Oh, but there won’t be a next time, ’cause that clever Miss Honeywell has come up with an idea to keep your cousin from causing anymore mischief,” he said with satisfaction.

Beau glowered and then gave up. He simply did not have the energy to continue being such a prick. “Kirby. I’m sorry. I know I’m being an unreasonable arse. Well, more than usual at any rate. I am grateful for what you did for me, truly.”

Kirby looked somewhat mollified by these words and shrugged. “S’alright,” he said gruffly. “You’re out of sorts, anyone can see that. Look, I tell you what, I’ll stop nagging you about drinking the water if you’ll get some air. It’s lovely down by the seafront. How about I find a blanket and a quiet corner, and you can get a bit of peace? I’ll even give you the local paper to read. That’s bound to keep you entertained,” he added with a grin.

Kirby looked so hopeful at this offer, Beau did not have the heart to reject it. The idea of bestirring himself from the chaise longue on which he was currently reclining did not appeal. Yet he remembered trips to the beach as a lad with his mother and they had been wonderful, with picnics and sea bathing and the building of sandcastles. Not that he was about to indulge in such childish pursuits, but it might be pleasant to sit and listen to the sea.

Still, it would not do for Kirby to think he had capitulated too easily, so he grumbled and protested some more before finally giving in.

Clementine stared down at the obstinate word square game and sighed. There were only two words and clues left to fit in to complete it, but her brain was refusing to cooperate. She sat in the garden, having come outside hoping that the fresh air might help, but her mind refused to settle and instead she watched her sisters playing with Caspar. Izzy was trying to teach him the rudiments of cricket and Bea was supposed to be helping but was laughing too hard at Caspar’s antics to be much use. They persevered for another twenty minutes, with Caspar getting the hang of holding the bat, which was almost as big as he was, before he grew bored.

“I’m going to play with the kittens!” he announced, running off and abandoning the bat where it fell.

“Oh, me too! I’ll get there first,” Bea exclaimed, picking up her skirts and pretending to chase the little boy across the lawn.

They ran inside, Caspar squealing with laughter as he went. Izzy picked up the bat and hunted around in the shrubbery for the cricket ball, giving a little shout of triumph when she found it. She sauntered back to Clementine, the bat under her arm and her sunhat at a rakish angle.

“Any joy?” she asked, plonking herself down into the chair beside Clementine.

“No. My grey matter has shrivelled up and died,” she said with a sigh. “I really must finish this one. You know how tetchy I get if I fall behind in my schedule.”

“Well, why not go for a walk along the beach? That always clears your head.”

Clementine perked up at the idea. She had not managed a walk since she had crossed swords with Lord Beaumarsh. “Yes, I shall do that. Will you come too?”

Izzy pulled a face. “Oh, no. Sorry, love. I’m too hot now. Besides, I’ve almost unpicked all the ribbon on my yellow muslin so Bea can put the lace on. She’s been nagging me about it for days. You know how I detest sewing and furbishing but she insists it will give it a whole new lease of life,” she added, rolling her eyes.

“Suit yourself.”

Clementine gathered up her papers and put them away before fetching her bonnet and striding out of the house. As she had the morning she had met Mr Kirby, she took the winding footpath that led through the woods and went all the way to the beach. Well-hidden unless you knew to look for it, the path was rumoured to be used by smugglers at night, and only the locals were aware of it. Finding herself alone, she sat on the sand to take off her shoes and stockings. It was warm, even for June, and the idea of paddling in the cool water was too delicious to deny indulging herself.

As always, the mere sight of the sea soothed Clementine. No matter the time of year, no matter whether it was a placid blue or a seething riot of tossing grey waves, she felt better able to think, to breathe, when she was near it. Standing on the sand, the cool water frothing about her toes, and turning her face up to the sun, she felt entirely at peace. A short-lived situation as a drawling voice hailed her.

“Miss Honeywell, good afternoon to you.”

Turning in surprise, Clementine started as she saw Lord Beaumarsh. He was lying on a rug, his long limbs arranged in their usual indolent sprawl that put her in mind of stories she had read of pampered pashas in their harems. As he was lounging in the shade of the trees that edged the beach, she had not noticed his presence. Now she wondered how she had missed him, for even in the shade his hair shone as bright as a newly minted guinea.

“Lord Beaumarsh,” she replied stiffly, cursing herself for having removed her shoes and stockings and realising in horror he must have seen her do so. “You might have revealed your presence a little sooner,” she remarked tartly, hoping she had not given him an indecent show.

“Sadly, I was dozing and did not notice you arrive. Nor did I see you remove your shoes and stockings, or I should have announced myself earlier. Do not tease yourself, though, for I do not expect you to believe that. Please, do go ahead and scold me for my disgusting behaviour.” He waved a hand at her, as if encouraging her to get on with it.

Clementine looked at him with interest. There was such a scathing edge to the words, and something else too. Frustration? Though what he was frustrated about, she could not fathom. Perhaps being stuck in a place he obviously thought of as a rural backwater. Still, her instincts told her he was telling the truth and had not seen her arrive.

“If you did not know I was here, I cannot blame you for having said nothing,” she said, her tone conciliatory.

“Thank you,” he replied, then his eyes glittered, and she just knew he was going to make some off-colour remark.

“Don’t,” she warned, narrowing her eyes at him. “Don’t spoil it.”

He pressed his lips together, amusement in his expression, before giving her a slight nod. “I beg your pardon.”

Despite herself, Clementine’s lips twitched, and she wondered what he’d meant to say. “Did you write to your cousin?” she asked instead, steering the conversation to safer ground, though she knew she ought to leave. Standing here chatting with such a man with her legs and feet bare, even if they were mostly hidden from view, was quite shockingly improper of her.

“I did. Kirby would never have let me hear the end of it if I hadn’t.”

“I can believe that,” Clementine replied, appreciating now that Mr Kirby was a most unlikely-looking valet. “He is a… a forceful character,” she said diplomatically, realising he looked forceful enough to break a neck if he so chose.