Page 39 of Cupid Comes to Little Valentine

Of course, Miss Honeywell would be the one to question Stonehaven.

“A little,” Stonehaven agreed. “Our families live very close to one another.”

Miss Honeywell nodded, and was far too well-mannered to press for further information, though Beau suspected she was dying to know more.

Mrs Adamson returned with a maid in tow and the menus, handing them all to Beau so he might give them out, and did not acknowledge Stonehaven.

“If you would excuse me, I have business to attend to, but Martha here will take your orders and look after you. Good afternoon, Lord Beaumarsh, Stonehaven, ladies.” With that, she curtsied again, without looking at Stonehaven, and left them with the maid.

Martha smiled at them brightly. A pretty girl of perhaps twenty, she waited with an expectant air as they perused the menu. As Mrs Adamson had explained, there was not a huge choice, but rose, lavender, raspberry, strawberry, and blackcurrant were all available.

Stonehaven chose the blackcurrant with very little deliberation, whilst Miss Beatrice said raspberry was her favourite. Miss Honeywell seconded this, with Miss Isabelle choosing the rose flavour. Beau plumped for strawberry and Martha noted down their orders and hurried away.

As they waited, the ladies got up to stand at the rail, looking out at the expanse of blue sea and the stretch of pretty buildings that followed the seafront. Beau hesitated, noticing that Miss Honeywell was standing alone. He went to stand beside her.

“Well, that was intriguing,” he said in an undertone.

She glanced up at him, her lips quirking. “Don’t,” she warned. “Yes, I am desperately curious, but I am not yet that nosy old lady I fear becoming. I do respect people’s privacy and, unless the situation was dire, I would not dream of interfering.”

“I know,” he replied mildly. “But isn’t it devilishly hard not to ask?”

“Not for me,” she replied, laughing. “Happily, I do not know Lord Stonehaven enough to be so dreadfully bold, and I respect Mrs Adamson far too much to pry into her affairs.”

“Whereas I have known Stonehaven since we were boys and can be as bold and provoking as I like. But if you are not interested, I shall not tell you if I discover anything.”

“Oh! Why, you—!” she exclaimed, outraged and entertained all at once.

Beau grinned at her. “Go on, ask me to write and let you know. I shan’t think any less of you.”

“Never in million years,” she said, looking back out to sea, her chin up.

“Stubborn creature,” he murmured, finding himself captivated by her profile, by a long, straight nose and thick lashes a deeper shade of blonde than her hair.

“You have no idea,” she said darkly, making him laugh.

“Oh, I think I am beginning to see you quite clearly, Miss Honeywell,” he remarked, and made an immediate retreat before she could run scared from him once again.

Clementine moved to the open window of her bedroom. She could see a bright stretch of blue sea from her vantage point, and she sat down to brush out her loose hair. The scent of night-scented stocks drifted up to her, a perfume so entangled with memories of her childhood and summer and her mama that she felt nostalgic for a time when life had seemed far simpler.

She had believed herself content with her lot. Her life was a busy one, and rich in interest. Living in this beautiful town, surrounded by people she had known all her life, seemed a blessing beyond anything she could imagine. The people here liked and respected her, and she had envisioned herself growing old here, keeping her father company in his twilight years, and then moving to one of the little rented houses along the seafront. No doubt her sisters would be happily married by then, and she would spend a good deal of time with them and their children too and be a favourite auntie.

Suddenly, that prospect was not as appealing as it had once been, and she felt a surge of irritation towards Lord Beaumarsh, for which she immediately berated herself. She had wanted to be his friend, had she not? Here the man was, trying to be just that, and she was cross with him because she could not keep her growing attraction to him under control. That was her fault, not his, and she must do better.

Of course, she likely would not see him again, and so the point was moot. But then she had not expected to see him today and be taken out for ices. It had been a delightful afternoon, full of laughter and interest and… how she wished he were not so handsome. If he looked like Lord Stonehaven, she would not be so afflicted by the sight of his smile, or by his deep blue eyes that seemed to reflect the ocean back at her, and the way they crinkled at the corners when she said something to entertain him.

A soft knock at the door returned her attention to the present.

“Come in.”

Beatrice stuck her head around the door. “I’m not disturbing you?”

“As if you could,” Clementine replied with a smile, making room on the window seat for her lovely sister.

Even with her hair tied in rags and a nightgown that had seen better days, Beatrice looked like an earthbound angel. She wasn’t. Oh, she was kind and sweet and good natured and quite the nicest person in the world, but she was also quietly stubborn, surprisingly brave when the occasion merited it, and had a lively sense of humour. Clementine knew it irked her when people, especially men, looked at her and saw only her beauty, and it was this that made her shy and not wish to put herself forward.

“Did you have a nice day?” she asked as Bea settled herself on the seat.

“Oh, yes. A wonderful day,” Bea replied, and Clementine noted the glow in her eyes with sudden disquiet. “I never expected such a treat, and out of the blue. I shall never forget it.”