Page 25 of Cupid Comes to Little Valentine

“No. No, indeed.” Clara made a heroic effort to rearrange her expression into something sympathetic, and Clementine was about to tell her she was a shocking friend when a strident voice sliced through the convivial atmosphere.

“Clara! Clara! Who is that you are talking to? I won’t have visitors, girl. Have I not told you that you are not to spend my meagre savings on entertaining your friends? How selfish you are! Are you drinking my best tea? You had better not have used the best china!”

“No, Aunt,” Clara called back, which was a blatant lie, for the pretty rose-patterned tea set was right before them, not that Clementine was about to mention the fact. “It is Miss Honeywell. Her father sent her to ask how you were,” she added, giving Clementine a look that dared her to judge her for the falsehood.

Clementine merely nodded, having no intention of doing so. Miss Edna Holloway would make her niece’s life a misery if Clara allowed her to, and Clementine admired Clara’s minor rebellions and how she found contentment in a life so filled with restrictions.

“Ha! You may tell her I am beset with pain and suffering, and my wicked niece does not care a snap of her fingers about it.”

“Yes, Aunt, I shall. Did you enjoy the crumpets I made for breakfast? There are more, and some more cherry jam if you would like,” Clara replied placidly.

There followed a brief silence during which Clementine imagined Miss Holloway deliberating between the pleasure of refusing outright and giving her niece another scolding, and the pleasure of enjoying more crumpets.

“You may bring me two more crumpets, and another cup of tea, assuming you have not drunk it all,” she said bitterly.

“Certainly, I shall,” Clara replied before turning back to Clementine and lowering her voice. “I’m sorry. You had better go before she works herself up into a pelter.”

Clementine nodded, not wanting to make Clara’s life any more difficult. Her friend followed her to the door and Clementine stepped out, about to bid her a good day, when Clara spoke.

“Don’t you wonder why Lord Beaumarsh makes you act like such a ninny? You are usually so sensible and very much in control. I have always very much admired and envied you your boldness and confidence,” she said thoughtfully, and then smiled as she closed the door.

Clementine laughed as she walked back down the path to the gate, for Clara was not subtle. Indeed, she had wondered, not that it was a secret. Lord Beaumarsh was young and handsome and terribly eligible and, despite being eminently sensible and, in some people’s minds, well beyond the age of forming a tendre for a fellow, Clementine was as human as the next girl and not above wishing for such a fine specimen to admire her.

“Foolish beyond permission,” she said on a sigh, and then looked hurriedly around in case anyone else had spied her talking to herself. She’d suffered quite enough embarrassment for one day.

Beau, draped indolently over a well-padded chaise longue, pondered the sight of an endless blue sea that blended with the sky. Sighing, he lifted a glass of wine to his mouth and sipped. It was a pleasant spot with a fabulous view, and the wine was excellent, yet he itched to leave. Where was his ridiculous cousin? Surely the information that Beau was about to turn up his toes would have him careening over the countryside in his eagerness to witness the culmination of his dastardly plan? It was just like Edwin to be unreliable even in this.

Well, Beau would give him another day, no more. After that, he was done with Little Valentine. He was bored out of his mind, and he needed something to do, needed entertainment and more sophisticated company than could be found in this rural backwater. If he stayed here any longer, he might do something reprehensible just to break the tedium.

Despite promising himself he would not, his mind immediately turned to what kind of reprehensible thing he might do. Not that his wretched imagination needed much prodding. The sight of Miss Honeywell in her demure nightgown had burned itself into his mind and would not shift. There was something about that excess of prim white cotton that did terrible things to his equilibrium. The thought of putting his hands on it, of rumpling and tugging up all that smoothly ironed snowy fabric and feeling the warm body beneath it, made his libido surge.

Usually, the ladies he dallied with wore little scraps of silk and lace. Often the silk was damped down to cling, leaving far more on display than was hidden. Miss Honeywell was something new, something untried. Oh, yes. Untried. As in not to be tried by the likes of you, Beaumarsh, you devil.

Reviling himself more than usual, Beau took a larger swallow of wine and cursed his cousin anew. He was just contemplating opening another bottle and getting thoroughly foxed when Kirby burst into the room.

“Quick!” he exclaimed, puffing as if he’d just outrun the dogs of hell.

Beau sat up, alarmed. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Edwin!” Kirby wheezed, bending double. “Just s-saw the blighter. Carriage will be here any moment.”

“About bloody time!” Beau said with feeling. “Well, don’t just stand there, help me out of these clothes. I can’t enact a deathbed scene dressed like this.”

Kirby wiped his face with his handkerchief and hurried over, still breathing hard. “I sent word to the reverend, and to Mr Chivers.”

“Chivers?” Beau queried.

“The local justice of the peace. Honeywell said he’d arranged it, but we’ll need to keep Edwin out of the way until they’re here.”

Beau flung his waistcoat to one side and began stripping off his shirt. “Well, I leave that to you, old man, but I reckon Mrs Adamson will play along if you ask her nicely.”

“Reckon so,” Kirby agreed, pulling a clean nightshirt out of the wardrobe and flinging it at his master.

Beau, not ready for the assault, glowered as it hit him in the face, before shaking it out and tugging it over his head. “Where’s that rice powder you bought?”

“I’ll fetch it,” Kirby said, drawing the curtains so the room was plunged into gloom. “Best keep it dark, though, you look a damn sight too healthy now and the rice powder won’t make you look overly sickly.”

Beau nodded, but took the powder and covered his face with the stuff before giving an almighty sneeze.