Page 41 of Cupid Comes to Little Valentine

Marley House, Battle, South-East Coast of England. 15thJuly 1815

Beau swung down from his horse and handed his reins over to the waiting groom. Stonehaven had returned to the Lodge earlier, but Beau had felt restless still, his mind filled with possibilities, with doubts and questions and uncertainties. Even if it was the right decision, there was no saying how Miss Honeywell would react to it. Laughing in his face or giving him the most terrific set-down both seemed equally likely. Worse, she might be kind. She might thank him for his offer and tell him how honoured she was and still turn him down flat.

He told himself she was a spinster, firmly on the shelf and, given her family's situation, with no possibility of getting herself off it. She ought to be grateful for an offer from a man who was considered a prize of the marriage mart. God, what an insufferable bastard he was! She ought to send him away with a flea in his ear if he voiced so appalling a notion in her hearing.

Did she not wish to change her life for the better, though? Indeed, she seemed to have no inclination to do so. But surely, she wished for her own home, for children. Feeling irritable and out of sorts, he stalked inside.

Marley House, as with Cavendish House, was a hunting lodge and very ancient, but there the similarities ended. It was far smaller, built of red brick and with many leaded light windows, and was rumoured to have been visited by Henry the Eighth when he was courting Anne Boleyn, for its proximity to Hever Castle was notable. Likely in Beau’s opinion, as old Henry had loved hunting and chasing women in equal measure.

Mr Heath Austen-Leigh, who owned the place, had clearly not visited any time recently, however, as it needed a thorough clean and a good deal of renovation. He kept on only a minimal staff, who were not much inclined to do more than the bare minimum. None of this improved Beau’s temper, used as he was to the finer things in life. Kirby was not much impressed either.

“We could go back to The Mermaid’s Tale,” he said the moment Beau opened the bedroom door.

“Oh, let me get a foot inside before you begin nagging me again,” Beau said crossly. “We are not going back there.”

“Why not? Clean sheets, and good food, that splendid view, and people who would welcome the sight of you again,” Kirby said with growing enthusiasm. “Here we’ve got leaky roofs, damp bedding, and I keep finding spiders in your unmentionables.”

Beau stared at him in horror. “You made that up,” he said accusingly.

Kirby shrugged. “Well, maybe the bit about the spiders, but it’s only a matter of time. Place is alive with them.”

Beau shook his head and sat down on the bed. “It hasn’t rained since we got here so you cannot know the roof leaks either. Now, get these boots off me. It’s too damned hot.”

Kirby did as he was asked, and Beau regarded the top of his head whilst he eased off the tight-fitting boots.

“Who would welcome the sight of me?” “Miss Honeywell, I reckon. Leastways, after what Stonehaven said about her sprawling all over you—”

“The devil!” Beau exclaimed, incensed. He might give his valet a good deal of leeway, but his friend had no business gossiping with him like an old woman.

“Well, it ain’t like I hadn’t remarked it myself,” Kirby said, unruffled by his lordship’s reaction. “You like her, I reckon. Sparky you are, the two of you. Bickering like you do. Reckon it means something.”

Despite himself, Beau could not help but ask, “What does it mean?”

Kirby snorted and straightened, having won the battle of the boots. “Bleedin’ hell. You’re the one for the ladies, my lord. Reckon you know a good deal better than I do. I could draw you a picture, maybe,” he added brazenly, though he immediately realised he’d pushed his luck too far and beat a hasty retreat, muttering about polishing his lordship’s boots.

Beau harrumphed. He ought to know better by now than to ask Kirby such daft questions. He changed out of his riding attire and made his way downstairs to find Stonehaven sitting on the terrace at the back of the house. It was a lovely spot, with far-reaching views over the countryside, and blessedly shady. The afternoon had grown hot and humid.

“Where do you leave off gossiping with my valet?” Beau demanded as he poured himself a glass of wine. Stonehaven had placed the bottle in a bucket of iced water to keep it cold, and it was mercifully chilled. He took a mouthful, savouring the fresh, grassy taste, and sat down beside his friend.

“Well, who else is there to gossip with around here? Besides, Kirby is the soul of discretion.” Stonehaven sipped his wine and regarded Beau. “What is it I’ve been gossiping about?”

“About my little collision with Miss Honeywell.”

Stonehaven chuckled. “Ah, yes. I’ve heard of fellows being struck by love like a thunderbolt, but never seen anything remotely close to it.”

“Don’t be an arse,” Beau replied, knowing Stonehaven too well not to recognise a lure. He would not rise to the bait.

“You like her, though,” the man observed nonchalantly.

“I do. She’s funny and capable and… and surprising,” Beau admitted.

Stonehaven nodded but said nothing.

“What?” Beau said.

Stonehaven returned a bland look. “I’m sorry? I didn’t say anything, did I?”

“I know,” Beau said with a sigh. “But I can hear you thinking.”