Sweet Summer Kisses

by Erin Knightley

Thomas gave a short bark of laughter. He couldn’t suppress it. Imagine, a young lady with Louisa’s fire and determination confronting her father’s mistress? It would be a vastly entertaining scene in a farce, but in reality such a thing could never happen. “You can’t do that.”

  “Why not?” She huffed. “If my father won’t hear reason, perhaps Madame will.”

  “Is it your intention to break up their romance?” Thomas looked at his companion with genuine curiosity. Most young women of their class would simply turn the other way. In fact, precious few of them would dare confront their fathers about anything. No one of his acquaintance would deign to speak to a woman like that. No one…except Louisa.

  That’s what made her so extraordinary.

  “I don’t know. I just want to say something. I want to be heard. Papa cut me off most cruelly, and I have to find some way of making my displeasure known,” she replied, an uneasy expression settling in her brown eyes. “So, I want you to accompany me to Madame’s door. You don’t have to go in; indeed, I crave a private audience with her. But I do want you there to prop me up as I go to and from.”

  For a brief moment, he considered turning down her request. After all, a fellow had his limits. Even in the military, when many of his comrades sought the company of loose women, he had abstained. Though many young bucks prided themselves on seeking out and enjoying the favors of a courtesan, the very idea of enslaving a young woman was repugnant.

  On the other hand, Louisa would go on about her mission with him or without him. He couldn’t very well allow her to go alone. If she were seen, her reputation could be damaged beyond repair. Being a young, wealthy man, his would only improve if he were spotted at Mme. Catalogna’s home, more’s the pity. Still, he hesitated.

  “Why do you need my help?” It was a fair question. And yet, at the same time, it made his heart pound to ask it aloud.

  Her cheeks flushed a becoming shade of pink, and she dropped her gaze to the floor. “Because we’re friends. We have our own secret society, don’t we?”

  He nodded. “Yes, we do. A society of two.”

  A silence followed his words, but was it a pointed silence? Was he the only one who felt the weight of those words?

  “So, you will help me?” Louisa broke the moment by regarding him with a frank stare. The lovely blush still tinged her pallor, but her manner was quite brisk and matter-of-fact.

  “Yes, I will help you. I have some business I must attend to later today, but I can go with you if we leave now.” He rose, extending his hand to her. “Shall we?”

  She gave a curt little nod and rose, tucking her hand into the crook of his elbow, and once more, he was out walking with Louisa through the streets of Bath. This was becoming a tradition of theirs, and yet they had only known each other a few days. Perhaps it was another facet of their secret society. They were the society of those who hated being rich, hated being told what to do, and liked very much to walk. His mouth quirked into a smile. At least, he enjoyed walking when he was in such fine company.

  Louisa was not inclined to conversation, and he did not try to engage her with inane chatter. He could not see the expression on her face, for her bonnet obscured all but the very edge of her profile, but he could well guess at her feelings. She must be girding herself for battle, much as he had done as an ensign. Some fellows, like Matthew, were lighthearted and even joking the eve of a great clash, but not he. Always he had sought some isolated corner, to think and brood over the coming day.

  Matthew was good at war. He, on the other hand, was not. No, he only joined to follow the brother he looked up to as a father. Somehow, God had spared him and not Matthew. Why? Matthew was so much braver than he, so much more expansive and jovial. His elder brother was the kind of fellow other men looked up to, and a superior soldier. Whereas he, Thomas, was mediocre at everything. Indeed, perhaps that was too generous a word, for he was ordinary at best.

  He shut off those thoughts with a snap. No use brooding over the past. He hated the position he found himself in now, for he was the least brilliant of all his brothers. Guilt washed over him every time he realized that he had been spared while they had been taken. Fortunately, his epiphany last night did help ease the pain somewhat. Obviously he was here for a purpose. Now he needed to honor his brothers’ memories by doing the best he could.

  They were nearing Madame Catalogna’s townhome, and Louisa’s steps slowed. She drew to a halt a few paces away from the front portico.

  “I am bearding the lioness in her den.” Her voice trembled. “I must say, I am nervous.”

  Sympathy clutched his heart. “Louisa, you are the bravest girl I know.” The words tumbled forth without pause, without his usual method of checking his thoughts before speaking them aloud. Was Louisa’s frankness rubbing off on him? “If you still feel this is the right thing to do, then I will tarry here until you return. But if you’d rather cry off, I won’t say a word.”

  “And you won’t hold my cowardice against me?” She gave him a quick, tense smile. “No, Captain, I shall fulfill my duty. If I were to leave off now, I would feel a right fool for the rest of my life.” She pulled away from him, and the coldness of her absence was palpable. “You don’t mind waiting until I return? I shan’t feel half so anxious if I know you are standing sentry.”

  He laughed. “No, indeed. In fact I would be quite remiss if I didn’t stay here. After all, we secret society members must stick together.”

  Louisa nodded, and squeezed his forearm. Thomas inhaled sharply as she sped gracefully up the steps. The idea of marriage to such a girl did not oppress him. In fact, a fellow could welcome someone like Louisa into his life. But, then, she had other plans. She wanted to teach, not swan around as a Lady Bountiful. A girl like that wanted to accomplish real, vital, important things with her life. If he offered to marry her, he would squash all those dreams.

  Yes, he would. For her father would look upon his wealth and status as pleasing, and would consider their engagement a most suitable match. Then, Louisa would be cajoled into marrying him, and he did not want her on those terms.

  No. A girl like Louisa should be allowed to be free as air.

  If he loved and respected her as much as he was beginning to suspect he did, the greatest thing he could do for her—in fact, the greatest act of love he could bestow—would be to let her go.

  ~*~

  Louisa sat on the tufted satin settee in Madame Catalogna’s drawing-room. If she braced the heel of her boot on the edge of the thick Oriental carpet, she would keep from sliding off and landing in an undignified heap on the floor. She folded her hands in her lap to hide their trembling. The scent of day lilies drifted through the air—a lovely smell in small doses, but in these confined quarters and with such a nervous stomach, her senses were in grave danger of being overwhelmed.

  Why had she cooked up such an addle-pated scheme? Talking to her own father’s paramour was a wonderful, powerful thing in theory—for as she lay awake last night, she imagined all sorts of scenarios to come from this meeting. Madame would wail and gnash her teeth, and beg Louisa’s forgiveness. Depending upon how sincere this display was, Louisa would either forgive her or stalk out of the room in stately disapproval.

  Now that she was actually here, however, the rising tide of panic would not abate. She glanced out the Palladian window—which was very elegant, and framed with opulent gold draperies—and spied Thomas standing sentry on the pavement. His hands were folded behind his back, and he paced to and fro with the air of a man on a mission. She smiled, and her fears ebbed. No matter what happened, Thomas would be waiting for her. She could do anything if he was there to support her. Funny how a man she’s really just met had become indispensible in her life already.

  The drawing-room door opened, and Madame Catalogna herself entered—no butler announced her presence, as one might expect from such lavish surroundings. Madame was smaller than Louisa recalled, dressed in a simple gown of brown taffeta, her famous blonde hair tu
cked neatly on top of her head. She cast a tentative smile Louisa’s way, and bobbed a slight curtsy. “Miss Bradbury, how very kind of you to call. I shall order tea.”

  Louisa shook her head, sending her ringlets bouncing against her cheek. “No need for that, Madame.” She sounded rather brusque, so she cleared her throat. “I mean, I don’t plan to stay very long.”

  “I am sorry to hear that,” Madame replied. Her accent didn’t reflect the musical lilt one might expect from a Spanish woman. In fact, she rather sounded like she’d grown up in Covent Garden. Louisa watched, her heart pounding in expectation, as Madame seated herself in a velvet chair, spreading her skirts out with a graceful gesture.

  “Madame,” Louisa began, and then she hesitated. Could she really say what she’d come to say? “Madameithascometomyattentionthatyouareseeingmyfather.” The words tumbled out in a rush. Louisa kept her gaze stubbornly fixed on the carpet. She could not meet Madame’s gaze.

  “Yes.” Madame made no further elaboration.

  Louisa forced herself to raise her eyes. “I don’t suppose it would do me any good to ask you to break things off.”

  Madame smiled. “I don’t know that your father would like that.”

  “I would like it very much,” Louisa retorted. She honestly had expected Madame to show some signs of nervousness, or of shame. Her simple acceptance of her sin was quite off-putting.

  “Miss Bradbury, I hope you don’t think I am being rude, but you must understand that this is most unusual. Your father speaks of you often and I feel I have come to know you—at least through his eyes. Despite this, I never planned to meet you in person, and I certainly never thought I would discuss my relationship with your father.” Madame sighed. “I can, however, see your side of the matter. I know you must be angry. I would be furious, if I were you.”

  For some reason, this helped. If Papa had only acknowledged her feelings last evening, her resolve to make matters right wouldn’t have burned so hotly or righteously through her very soul. Louisa heaved a deep sigh, allowing her shoulders to relax a little. “I am angry, and I feel hurt.”

  “That is understandable,” Madame Catalogna admitted. “I don’t know how you found out about our relationship, but I imagine it was rather startling.”

  “I saw you on the street together yesterday.” She regretted turning away the offer of tea, for her mouth was now parched as a desert. “I confronted Papa about it last night.”

  Madame arched one delicate eyebrow. “I assume that did not go well.”

  “No, it did not.”

  They lapsed into silence, broken only by the ticking of the tall clock in the corner of the room. Louisa scrambled after her scattered thoughts. Well, here she was. She was speaking directly to her father’s mistress. Madame was blessedly frank and had even shown some sympathy. So what more did she want to say? At last, she was being heard. Not that Madame wielded the same kind of influence over her life that Papa or Amelia did, but still. At least someone was willing to admit that the whole matter was troubling.

  “I honestly don’t know what more to say,” she admitted at length. “I wish my Papa would stop seeing you, for I feel it tarnishes my mother’s memory. I hate that he gets to do whatever he wants while forcing me to do his bidding.”

  “What is it you wish to do? Perhaps I can help.” Madame pulled the bell-rope. “I know you have forsaken tea, but I simply must have some. At least it will give me something to do with my hands.”

  Louisa laughed aloud. “Oh, thank you. I was just thinking the same thing.”

  The butler appeared, and Madame gave the orders for a proper tea, “with scones and lashings of clotted cream,” which provoked another laugh from Louisa. Against her own will, she was finding she rather liked Madame.

  “Is Madame Catalogna your real name?” If she could be frank with this extraordinary woman about her father’s affair, she could ask her almost anything.

  “No. I am Mary Campbell,” she admitted with a chuckle. “But an exotic stage name is a necessity in my career.”

  Louisa fell silent as the butler came in and laid the table for tea. After he withdrew, she pounced on the tea pot. “Here, I’ll pour. May I call you something other than Madame? It’s rather a mouthful.” She held the teacup out to Madame, who accepted it with thanks.

  “Just call me Mary, Miss Bradbury.”

  “I insist you call me Louisa.” She took a careful sip of her tea. Perfect—just warm enough to drink without burning oneself.

  “Thank you, Louisa.” Mary gave her a hearty smile. “Now, let us press on. What is your father asking you to do?”

  “What most fathers want their daughters to do. He wants me to marry and settle down, but I feel like I want to continue teaching.” As she explained her work with the veterans’ group to Mary, a feeling of malaise gripped her. If she continued teaching, she would not be able to wed. If she married, she’d have to give up teaching. This was all crystal-clear before, and something she readily accepted.

  That was until she met Thomas, of course.

  Thomas, who waited like an armed guard outside.

  Her champion and her protector.

  His very existence was complicating her life’s mission.

  Or, what she had assumed her mission in life to be.

  Chapter 7

  Thomas consulted his pocket watch. Louisa had been gone for nearly half an hour. What was the protocol in matters such as this? His military training certainly hadn’t prepared him for this situation. Should one barge in when one’s lady fair was confronting her father’s mistress?

  Though he’d known the lady for just a few days, he was certain Louisa could hold her own in any situation. That was not what worried him. He tucked his pocket-watch back into his waistcoat and stared up at the windows of Madame Catalogna’s townhome. He had been standing out here an awfully long time, and no matter how reputation-building his current position might seem, he wanted to see Louisa again. Had she been satisfied in battle?

  After a sudden flurry of activity in the doorway, Louisa was running toward him, clasping her bonnet to her head with one hand. “Thomas, I must apologize,” she panted as she drew near. “I didn’t mean to make you wait out here so long. Do come in.”

  “It’s not over?” He couldn’t conceal his incredulous tone. Really, what had happened after all this time? He had expected that Madame would be reduced to tears by now, and Louisa would come marching out as the victor.

  “Well, you see, we’re having tea, and I lost track of time. I suddenly realized how long I’d been gone, and I hated to leave you out there on the pavement when you’ve been my protector.” She tucked her arm under his elbow and urged him forward. “Come along, Thomas. Join us. Mary won’t bite, I assure you.”

  “Mary?” He was hurtled into the vestibule of the townhome, where an elderly butler divested him of his coat. “May I ask--who on earth is Mary?”

  “Oh, Mary is Madame. Or rather, Madame is Mary. You see, that’s her stage name. I suppose all performers need them.” She paused for a moment, her whirlwind settling briefly in a foam of skirts. The door to what he presumed was the drawing-room was shut, and Louisa dropped her voice to a whisper. “I find myself rather liking her, Thomas. But I want your opinion on her character too.”

  “Why?” His head was still spinning, and he grasped after reality to ground himself. Louisa seemed to have that effect on his senses, every time he met her.

  “Because I value your judgment above almost anyone I know. Save Lucy, perhaps.” She smoothed her skirts and assumed a placid expression. “Now, are you ready?”

  “Yes.” He was bewildered, of course, but had been well-trained to never let it show. So Louisa valued his opinion, and wanted to know his thoughts about Madame Catalogna, or Mary, or whatever her name was? He hardly knew his own mind, much less what he could think of anyone else. All that mattered is that Louisa valued his word.

  Louisa ushered him into an opulent sitting-room, where Madame hers
elf sat gracefully on a settee. Madame was free of all powder and paint, and he could just discern fine lines about her merry blue eyes as he bowed low over her hand. On appearances, at any rate, she seemed like one of their class—well-dressed and refined.

  He took a seat opposite her and accepted a cup of tea from Louisa with something akin to startled gratitude. On the one hand, he wanted to stay so that he could help Louisa by giving his opinion on Madame’s character. On the other, the sooner they were done and away from here, the better—as far as everyone’s reputations were concerned.

  Louisa sat, cup of tea in hand, and regarded Madame Catalogna with that singular piercing gaze he was beginning to recognize. She had questions, and she was going to wait here until they were all answered to her satisfaction. There was nothing a fellow could do but sit back and wait ‘til Louisa was ready to leave.

  He settled back against the cushions and took a long draught of tea.

  “Mary, I must say, I find myself liking you more and more,” Louisa admitted. “Why on earth haven’t you married my father?”

  The tea caught in Thomas’ throat and he coughed, spluttering like an idiot, until Louisa set him back to rights with a sharp whack on his back. As he wheezed for breath, Madame fluttered around, offering to call the butler or administer smelling salts.

  “I’m quite all right,” he managed to gasp at length. “Please, don’t concern yourselves.”

  Once Louisa stopped pounding his back, she settled back in her chair, all business once more. She picked up her teacup with the attitude of one going back into battle. “Now, Mary. Why haven’t you married Papa? He’s the kind of man who needs to be married, you know.”

  Thomas flicked a glance at Madame. How on earth would she handle such a question? Louisa was too innocent to understand what she was asking, surely.

  “The difference between your father’s social status and mine is too big to bridge,” Madame began quietly. “We cannot marry.”

  “But this is absurd.” Louisa set her teacup down with a defiant clink. “Already I can tell that you have more good sense than most women of my acquaintance. And Papa needs someone to care for him, and to be his companion. Why on earth should your situation in life interfere with your happiness, or Papa’s?”