Mistaken Kiss: A Humorous Traditional Regency Romance (My Notorious Aunt Book 2)

by Kathleen Baldwin

  Doing it up a bit brown, Willa thought. But to her astonishment, Honore actually developed moisture in her eyes, as if she were truly on the verge of tears. Willa stared at her for a moment before bursting into laughter.

  “I may be nearly blind, but I’m not daft.” She rushed to her aunt and knelt beside her chair. “Simple? You? Never! If I’ve wounded you, I apologize. You’re a remarkable woman, Aunt Honore. Brilliant! But yes, it’s true. I do believe you are capable of elaborate schemes. And perhaps some rather ingenious mischief. The more complex the plot, the happier you are. Am I wrong?”

  Honore sniffed. “Oh, pooh. Now you’re just flattering me.”

  Willa laughed. “Only you would think so.”

  Honore sat back in her chair regarding Willa as a gardener evaluates a rose. Was it too soon to cut her from the bush, or too late? Crush the blossom? Or save the flower? What was her aunt thinking?

  Honore folded her arms across her chest and nodded. “I quite like you.”

  Willa smiled.

  “For pity’s sake, get up from the floor. You’ll bruise your knees.”

  “You’ll call off the hounds?”

  Honore arched one eyebrow. “What would you have me do, send a notice to the Times? To whom it may concern, my niece is very nearly a pauper. Take warning, one and all. She has naught but a pittance for a dowry and no other expectations whatsoever. Is that what you have in mind?”

  Willa stood up and fidgeted with her skirt. “Something a trifle less humiliating.”

  “Oh, now you wish to avoid humiliation as well?”

  “I wish to avoid fortune hunters who want to sink rowboats so that they might appear as my knight in shining armor.”

  Honore shrugged and smeared marmalade on a piece of toast. “More entertaining than gypsies or the juggler, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Yes, but infinitely more dangerous.”

  “I quite enjoyed watching your beau gallop around the pond to save the roly-poly chap.”

  “Precisely my point. Harry might have died.”

  “Fiddle-faddle. Your Alex is quite athletic. Never a question.”

  “He’s not my Alex. You are diverting from the point. Something must be done about the fortune hunters.”

  Honore held up her toast, waving it like wand. “Aside from humiliating you in the Times or the Post, I’m at a loss.”

  “I should think a few well-placed words, in the right ear, might do the trick.”

  Honore’s expression grew shrewd. “Been known to backfire. Oft times, a denial is far more convincing than a declaration.”

  Willa’s shoulders sagged. What chance did she have of convincing Honore to do the proper thing?

  The butler entered carrying a silver salver bearing a card. He spoke in hushed tones to Honore, who chuckled. “Yes. Yes, by all means, send them in.”

  Her aunt grinned at her. “Delightful news, my dear. Your brother has come to call.”

  “Jerome?”

  “You have another?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Well then, it must be he. Cairn tells me there is a bee under the good vicar’s bonnet. Ah, here he is. Let us see this bee.” Honore dropped her toast and rubbed her hands together like an eager child on Christmas morn.

  In the next instant, Honore’s features reverted to the very epitome of a bored matron. Willa adjusted her spectacles and squinted, looking for a residue of the excitement previously flashing in her aunt’s features. Nothing. Extraordinary.

  Jerome charged into the breakfast room waving a parchment as if it were a battle flag. “I’ve had a letter. Most alarming.”

  Sir Daniel trailed behind and cleared his throat. “To be precise, the letter was mine.”

  “Oh, yes, to be sure. So it was.” Jerome sputtered and inclined his head. “Sir Daniel has had a letter of alarming proportions.”

  “Looks to be of normal proportions to me.” Honore glanced at him quizzically.

  “Not what I meant.”

  “No? What did you mean?”

  “Upsetting, that’s what! Can’t tolerate this sort of thing. Must take Willa home, forthwith and immediately.”

  “Forthwith? And immediately? Come nephew, what can you be talking about?”

  Jerome shook the letter. “Gossip, that’s what. A warning. Rackety crowd, it says.” Jerome skimmed the letter searching for the right words. He jabbed his finger at the handwriting in the center. “Right here. Says, you abandoned her. Left her at the mercy of young Braeburn and the like. Spreading rumors about her money.”

  He dropped his arms to his sides and took a deep breath. “Can’t have that.”

  “No,” Honore agreed, calmly stirring her hot chocolate. “Especially dangerous, the hum about her money since she doesn’t have any. Unless you...?”

  “No.” Jerome raised his hands, warding her off, still clutching the letter of alarming proportions. “No. Not my point, at all. Don’t care about the money. It’s the rackety crowd business, and leaving Willa to the devices of a wastrel like Braeburn. Can’t be entrusted to the likes of him. Who knows what he—”

  “No! Alex would never...” Willa swallowed back the rest of her sentence. She clenched her hands into tights fists, forcing the nails to bite into her palms so that she might gain control and calm her voice to a respectable level. “Jerome, I beg you. Do not say such things of him. You mustn’t call him names or slur his character. It’s not true. He’s not a wastrel. What do either of you know of him?”

  Sir Daniel patted her on the shoulder. “Now, now, Willa. He is my brother, you know. I know whereof I speak.”

  She moved out from under his grasp. “You turned your back on him long ago. He’s no longer a confused boy. If you would but look, he’s—”

  “Yes. Yes.” Honore held up her hand. “My dear, before you wax eloquent on young Braeburn’s character, I should like to ask your brother who was the author of this alarming letter?”

  Jerome shrank back and colored slightly.

  “Well?” Honore narrowed her eyes at him as she sipped her morning chocolate.

  He shook his head and muttered to the floor. “Anonymous.”

  “What?” She turned her ear toward him. “Didn’t quite hear what you said.”

  “That’s the rub, you see. No signature. No address. Anonymous.”

  Sir Daniel nodded. “One of my acquaintances, to be sure. Well-meaning, no doubt. Trying to be of assistance.”

  “Ah. Anonymous.” Honore stood up and shook the crumbs from her silk skirt. “And the post mark? Could it have been posted from Essex?”

  Sir Daniel and Jerome took a step closer to each other. Daniel rubbed at his knuckles. “Why, yes. I believe it may have been.”

  “As I thought.” She turned to Willa. “Congratulations, my dear. You must have made Miss Tricot so jealous that she has gone to these extraordinary lengths to have you removed from her sphere.”

  “Oh, but I cannot think that Alfreda would write—”

  “Tut tut, Willa. Think child. Is it not posted from her neighborhood? You mustn’t underestimate your confederates. She’s a very determined female is she not? And is not Lord Tournsby hanging about you like a puppy dog?”

  “Hardly that! But how did you know she...” There was no way to continue without divulging Alfreda’s secret goal.

  One side of Honore’s face cocked up in a devious grin. “I make a point of—”

  “Here now. What’s this?” Jerome interrupted. “There’s a lord paying heed to our Willa?”

  Honore wheeled around. “Why, yes, there is. Mind you, I won’t have any of it. He’s not nearly good enough for our Willa.”

  “Not good enough? A gentleman with a title? Surely—”

  Honore waved her hand glibly. “No. Not good enough by half.”

  Jerome rubbed his chin. “Well, I had thought to take her home with us, but—”

  “What?” Honore puffed up like a dragon towering over poor Jerome. “You thought you’d ba
rge in here and whisk her away merely because she’s garnered a jealous enemy? Are you daft?”

  Willa felt sorry for her brother as Honore completely turned the tables on him. He’d come on her behalf, and Honore was eating him alive.

  She didn’t wish to leave. Not yet. She would spend many long decades at Jerome’s side in St. Cleves. This was her one chance for adventure, for stolen moments with Alex. She couldn’t bear the thought of parting with him forever. Not yet. The time would come soon enough. But this one season, these few delicious moments, would have to last her a lifetime.

  Jerome and Daniel were baffled as Honore threw up her hands and stomped out of the room without another word.

  Willa moved to her brother’s side. “I assure you, Jerome, I am quite well. I’m deeply moved that you traveled to town to come to my aid. I am most grateful. But as you can see, I am fine. You know me to be a sensible person, do you not?”

  He nodded, somewhat mollified.

  “I promise you I shall write immediately should the circumstances get out of hand. For the nonce, I would very much like to stay with our aunt.”

  He sputtered. “Yes. Yes. Had no idea you had lords hanging about. Never would have guessed it.” He shook his head. “Quite remarkable.” He tucked the letter away in his pocket. “And Willa, if Aunt Honore puts any of the gentlemen off too quickly, you could always have them apply to me. A lord is nothing to turn up your nose at.”

  She hugged him. “You are the best of brothers.”

  He blushed and patted her arms. “I trust you will use your good judgment.”

  Sir Daniel stood stiffly beside Jerome. “Yes, in all matters. Write us at the slightest hint of trouble.”

  Jerome nodded. “Now, I expect you had better go make our apologies before she over-boils and sends you home herself. We’ll see ourselves out.”

  Willa hurried up the staircase to find her aunt seated behind her escritoire in her sitting room, placidly writing a note.

  “I take it Jerome relented?” Honore asked without looking up.

  “You knew he would.”

  Honore shrugged.

  Willa squinted at Honore, gauging her aunt’s supposed nonchalance. “I wonder who wrote that letter? I am convinced Alfreda would not have done so.” Willa listened carefully for any changes in her aunt’s breathing.

  “No, probably not.”

  “Then why did you suggest that she—”

  “You wished to stay here, did you not?” Honore chuckled and shook her head as if Willa were a silly child. She glanced up. “Perhaps Alex wrote the letter.”

  “Alex? No, that’s ridiculous. What possible motive would he have?”

  “Ah, you want motive, do you?” Honore brushed the end of her feather quill against her cheek as she gazed speculatively at Willa. “He might wish to protect you from his baser nature.”

  “No. I don’t believe it.” Willa crossed her arms firmly across her chest.

  Honore’s eyebrows rose theatrically. “What is it you don’t believe? That he has a baser nature? Or that he would wish to protect you from it?”

  “Neither one.” She was adamant.

  As her aunt’s lips curled sideways in a private joke, Willa realized her error. “No, that’s not what I meant. He doesn’t have a base nature and of course he would protect me from it.”

  “Naturally.” Honore’s amused expression remained intact. “If he had one—”

  You know perfectly well what I meant.” She flung her hands to her sides and inhaled deeply before trying to breach any more of her aunt’s verbal traps. “He did not write it.” She put a staccato-like emphasis on each word.

  Honore tipped her head to the side and studied Willa. “Very well. Then, who?”

  Willa frowned and leaned forward, placing both hands squarely on her aunt’s writing table. “Were I able to discern any rational motive, I would think it was you.”

  “Me?” She drew back, hand to heart, offended and amused all at the same time. “Me? Why I’ve done nothing wrong except dote on you in excess. The excitement yesterday must have gone to your head. Go have a lie down. Tell that badger of a lady’s maid to bring you something to soothe your feverish mind. Laudanum, for instance.” Honore chuckled a little too giddily as she waved Willa away. She continued to complain as Willa obediently turned to go. “I? Indeed. And whyever would I do such a thing?”

  Willa frowned. Why, indeed?

  Chapter 16

  The Queen Of Tarts She Spied On Some Hearts All On A Summer’s Eve

  THE FOLLOWING EVENING, Willa walked down the hallway to her aunt’s study. It startled her when the door opened before she reached it. A man slipped out of the room quickly, efficiently, his boots scarcely making a sound on the marble.

  She’d seen him before, coming and going secretly like a rat catcher no one wishes to acknowledge. His long coat was marred with dried mud and bore the dirt of weeks of hard wear without benefit of a proper brushing. He frowned at Willa, eyes shrewd and ferret-like, assessing in a glance, seeing more than one wished. He did not bow. Did naught but place his hat on his head and tip it slightly in deference to her approach before he hurried away.

  Willa frowned as he disappeared down the back stairs. She quietly entered the room he’d just vacated. “Who was that?”

  Honore looked up from her escritoire. “Who, dear?”

  She knew by her aunt’s initial response there would be no answer. Nevertheless, Willa tried to extract more. “The very odd man who was just in here. The man wearing a coat when it is not in the least bit chilly outside.”

  Honore’s brows pinched together as if she were trying to recollect one particular visitor from a collection of hundreds that had just evacuated her study. “Men wear coats for many reasons and in all seasons. My dear! You look stunning in that gown. The dark-blue silk is exactly the right shade to compliment your hair. I knew it would be. Come. I have a sapphire necklace that will match it perfectly.”

  The necklace was beautiful. Unfortunately, it dangled, much to Willa’s embarrassment, into the cleft between her breasts. If, perchance, a gentleman failed to notice the ample expanse of her bosom revealed by the gown’s wide square neckline, an arrow of dazzling blue gems would point his gaze where it should not go.

  Willa shook her head. “Thank you, but I couldn’t. It’s lovely, but...” What phrase would extricate her from the vulgarity of the jeweled collar? “I’m afraid it’s too expensive...too magnificent a piece for a young lady of my station.”

  “Hhmm.” Honore stood behind her looking in the mirror, her forefinger tapping speculatively against her chin. “Yes, I see the problem. I’ll adjust the clasp. Just so.” She grinned, pleased with the result of her ministrations. “Yes. Now it’s perfect.”

  Now the exquisite rope of sapphires ended with the star cluster suspended a tantalizing inch above where her breasts arced together. The pendant no longer dropped vulgarly, like a finger, into her cleavage. Instead, one must watch it shimmer and barely graze that dark place. Egad! Her aunt was a seductive genius, a sorceress.

  “I ought not wear this,” Willa muttered.

  Her aunt simply laughed. “But you will. Now come. Let us go. We have a thousand people to visit.”

  * * *

  A thousand people? Honore was prone to exaggeration. But in this instance, her aunt’s estimate proved to be conservative.

  The routs they attended were jammed with people. Indeed, they had to wait in the carriage for nearly an hour to disembark in front of each house. Then, they must push and squeeze their way up the stairs, wait endlessly in a line to parade past the matron of the home, and do a curtsey. After which, they wriggled back down the staircase, ducking under elbows, dodging cups of warm punch, and at last, they pushed their way out the front door into the night air, took a deep breath, climbed into the carriage, rode a block and a half, and proceeded to do it all over again.

  Willa could not endure one more rout that night. Her aunt refused to hear her pro
tests.

  Honore clucked her tongue. “Lady Haversburg will be offended if we do not go. She is all agog to meet you. Sent me the ‘at home’ weeks ago. We must go.” She craned around to peek out the back window.

  “She won’t even notice if we are there.” Willa rubbed at her temple.

  Honore snorted. “Speak for yourself, my dear. Everyone knows when I am in attendance. I cannot be missed.” Indeed, in a beaded emerald-green gown contrasting her deep-red hennaed hair, Honore commanded attention.

  Willa endured Lady Haversburg’s ordeal. When at last they escaped to the carriage, she declared herself completely done in and fit company for no one but her own pillow.

  “Folderol! It’s only one o’clock. No one goes to bed this early. One more stop. Lady Vessmere’s card party, where you may sit down to your heart’s content.”

  “My feet are not what is sore. It’s my ribs from being jabbed and shoved. Are you certain the card party won’t be another button-to-eyeball crush? At Lady Haversburg’s rout, my hair snagged on Lord Alberney’s stickpin. He dragged me backwards up two stairs before he noticed.”

  “Yes, well, that explains it. I thought perhaps you were adopting a rather unique new hairstyle. Come here. I will tuck it down for you.”

  Willa shifted across the carriage to sit beside her aunt. “Promise the card party shan’t be another horrid squeeze.”

  “It’s a charitable event. Those are never as well attended.” Honore gently prodded and tucked Willa’s wayward curls back into the ribbons coiling al Greco through her hair.

  “Charity? How lovely. Then I shall be happy to go. Is it for orphans? Stricken soldiers? Which?”

  “Ah, well, nothing quite so noble, I’m afraid. Turn your head, dear. This stubborn piece keeps springing out.”

  Willa obeyed. “All charity is noble.”

  “If you say so. I expect Lady Vessmere feels the same way. The late baron left her with a pile of debts and no means to pay. So, every Thursday she holds an evening of cards and entertainment. Those in attendance generally leave her a percentage of their winnings. There! Your hair is restored.”