Page 6 of Cupid Comes to Little Valentine

“Yes. You can play with them when you get home,” Clementine said, trying to chivvy her sister up by making shooing motions.

“Where are you going?” Bea asked, lifting the little ginger cat up and kissing its nose.

Izzy and Clementine exchanged a quick glance. “Oh, just an errand to run. I’ll explain later,” Clementine said with a smile. Bea would be horrified both by the fate of Clementine’s best boots and her intention to demand money to replace them. “You had better stay and keep an eye on these little mischief-makers. Caspar and Daisy will wake from their naps shortly and you’ll need to supervise them.”

“Yes, all right,” Beatrice said easily, for Beatrice was the most compliant of the three sisters and rarely objected to being told what to do.

Hurrying Izzy out of the room before Bea could become curious about their errand, Clementine put on her bonnet and spencer and picked up a parcel wrapped in sacking.

“You’re bringing the boots?” Izzy asked, looking at the parcel with misgiving.

“Certainly,” Clementine said as she waited for Izzy to finish tying her bonnet. “Otherwise, he only has my word for the damage he did.”

“To be fair, Clem, walking in the sea probably did just as much damage,” Izzy said reasonably.

Clementine, who did not feel like being reasonable, sent her a dark look and Izzy subsided.

“Well, I suppose you would not have paddled with them on unless the situation were dire,” Izzy said, her tone conciliatory.

“Quite.” Clementine nodded and strode briskly down the hill towards the seafront.

“Might we go to the haberdashery afterwards?” Izzy asked, surprising Clementine. Of the three sisters, Izzy cared the least for new gowns and pretty things, and Clementine wondered what had provoked the sudden desire to go to a place she normally only visited under duress.

Izzy coloured at the considering glance Clementine shot her. “I want to make collars for the kittens,” she said, sounding a touch defensive.

Clementine laughed. That made a deal more sense. “Yes, of course we may,” she said, linking her arm through her sister’s as they walked.

“I shall never tire of that view,” Izzy said as they turned a corner and the dazzling blue sea was suddenly before them, sparkling in the afternoon sunshine.

Clementine nodded, hardly able to disagree. She was fortunate enough to have a view of the sea from her bedroom, and she could stare at it for hours. It was one of the few things that never failed to calm her when she was vexed. “Yes, and I would love to find a quiet spot and have a paddle, without my boots,” she added wryly. “But I must get this done before I lose my nerve.”

“Would you?” Izzy asked, curiosity in her eyes.

Clementine glanced at her, frowning. “Would I what?”

“Lose your nerve. I’ve never known you back down before.”

Clementine stood looking up at the jauntily painted sign that proclaimed The Mermaid’s Tale and shrugged. “I’ve never confronted a nobleman in a hotel before,” she replied, feeling a sudden stab of apprehension.

“We don’t have to go in,” Izzy reminded her gently. “We could explain the situation to Papa. I’m sure he’d know how to deal with it.”

Clementine put her chin up, glaring at her sister. “Certainly not,” she said briskly, and strode to the front door.

“I don’t want it, damn you,” Lord Beaumarsh replied wearily, pushing the suspicious-looking cup his valet offered out of his face. Reclining on a comfortable settee in the surprisingly elegant living room of the suite Kirby had secured for him, Beau contemplated how best to revenge himself on his cousin for his temerity. How the craven-hearted fribble had got up the nerve to slip poison into his glass, he could not imagine.

“I never asked if you wanted it. I said drink it,” Kirby said, the implacable look on his face boding ill.

“I. Don’t. Want it,” Beau said again, a dangerous note to his voice. He glared at his valet, smoothed his hands over the heavily embroidered silk of his banyan, and closed his eyes. Perhaps if he took another nap, his head would stop feeling as though it was being repeatedly bashed against an anvil.

“Fine. Die. See if I care. It’s nothing to me if you turn up your toes,” Kirby muttered, setting the glass down and moving around the room, tidying things that did not require tidying. “It’s not like I trudged for bleedin’ miles up hill to fetch the water from the spa for you. Don’t matter if I brought you here for that reason, just to make you better, does it? So, you trot along to kingdom come. I’ll just be out of a job, won’t I? Me old mum depends on me, but that’s not your concern. I expect I’ll find another job just as good what pays well enough to keep her in that nice little cottage. I mean, every nobleman wants to hire an ex-boxer with a criminal record, don’t they? Shouldn’t be no bother at all. It’s not as if—”

“Oh, devil take you, Kirby, give me the damned stuff!” Beau snapped. Left to his own devices, Kirby would lead him through a protracted if imaginary history where he and his mother died in some rat-infested gutter of exposure and malnourishment. “Though I tell you now, this filthy stuff is more likely to have me pushing up daisies. A nice glass of claret would be better. I’ll even take ale if you’re going to get all mother-hennish on me.”

“Water,” Kirby said, handing him the water. “The doctor said five times a day. Minimum,” he added, drawing the word out as if daring Beau to argue.

Giving his valet a look that could have etched glass, Beau snatched the cup from him, sniffed it, and recoiled. “God’s teeth!” he exclaimed, blinking. “Are you trying to cure me or finish me off?”

“It’s just the sulphur,” Kirby said, rolling his eyes. “That’s the good bit.”