by Jo Beverley
“Is something the matter?” she asked, not turning.
“No. I’m simply enjoying watching a woman attend to her hair.”
“A novelty for you, is it?” she asked scathingly.
But he said, “Yes.”
“You’ll be trying to convince me you’re a saint next.”
“Never that. Do you need help?”
“With my hair? I doubt a man like you has the skills.”
“I can tie knots.”
“Which is the exact opposite of what I want.”
She focused on her own reflection again, aghast at the effect he was having on her. Her heart was racing. She was sure she was flushed. It was because of the bed and the soft, sweet domesticity winding around them.
“Have you ordered breakfast?” she asked, more sharply than she’d intended.
“I’ll attend to it, Your Majesty,” he said, and disappeared from view.
Bella put her hand to her chest for a moment, trying to steady her heart, but when she looked in the mirror, her eyes were bright.
Stars in the eyes.
Was there any way to make her dreams come true?
She wouldn’t even consider whether it would be wise to do so.
A snug house in Dover. A bedchamber much like this one, but with a smaller bed. One they would truly share.
She hastily twisted her hair and speared it with hairpins. She fixed on the wig and put the cap on top. There, that was better, but her eyes still sparkled. She put on her spectacles. They dimmed the glow a little, but not, perhaps, enough.
Why did she want to conceal it?
Hadn’t he, perhaps, looked at her in a special way?
She heard someone arrive in the other room and rose. Breakfast. He must have left to order it, for she hadn’t heard him shout. She smoothed down her skirts and checked her appearance once again, wishing she were a raving beauty. Wishing she were at least dressed prettily. Then she joined him.
“We have tea and chocolate,” he said, gesturing for her to take a seat at the table. “If you want coffee, I’ll get it for you.”
“No, chocolate is perfect,” Bella said, sitting. She watched him pour tea for himself. It was a clear amber and he added no milk or sugar. She also noticed a small wooden chest on the table.
“Have you brought your own tea?” she asked.
“A foible of mine.”
“I’m still surprised to find you a tea drinker.”
He smiled at her. “What constitutes a tea drinker?”
Daring to tease, Bella said, “A milksop?”
“Unfair to the most enchanting brew the world knows, Bella. You permit that, in private?”
Bella suspected she should object for her heart’s safety, but she said, “Of course. And you are Caleb?”
“Ah.” He considered his teacup, then looked up. “My friends call me Thorn. From Rose, you see. Will you use that?”
She wanted to, but it felt dangerous. “I’m not sure. It seems such a . . . personal name.”
“What do you call your brother?” he asked, beginning to eat ham.
“Augustus. We were never close enough for nicknames, though I certainly should have thought of an alternative.” Bella took a piece of fresh, hot bread and began to butter it. “Augustus means the most high. I wonder what the opposite would be.”
“Mean?” he suggested. “Shameful? Base?”
“I don’t suppose there’s a name that means base.”
“Bastard?” he offered, then asked, “What’s the matter?”
Bella looked at him, trying to decide what to say. “I understand you are a bastard. An illegitimate son of the Duke of Ithorne, and brother of the current duke.”
“Ah, that.” He did look uncomfortable, but then he shrugged. “I feel no shame in it.”
Bella watched him eat ham with a hearty appetite and had to believe him. “I hear the current duke has been kind to you.”
“I get to sail the Black Swan. I don’t envy him, if that’s what concerns you. Hellish business, being a duke.”
“Most people wouldn’t think that.”
“Most people have no idea what it involves.”
“You say that fervently. He talks to you about his life?”
He was busy pouring himself more tea. “We are brothers.”
Bella remembered her questions about the donation of a thousand guineas. “Is he a generous man?” she asked.
He looked up in surprise. “Ithorne? I’d say so.”
“Does he support any particular causes?”
“Seeking a donation? For what?”
She’d triggered his curiosity, so she shrugged. “Oh, nothing like that. You probably find dukes commonplace, but to me one is an extraordinary creature.”
“He’s just a man, like me.”
She had to chuckle. “I doubt that. He probably has ten servants to help him to dress, and four barbers to keep his face free of hair.”
“He does like to be clean shaven.”
“There, see. And never a hair out of place or a spot of dirt on his shining shoes.”
“Exactly!” But his lips were twitching.
“I have seen him, you know,” she said. “At a distance, of course. But he is always in perfect order.”
“In public. He has a private face.” He drank tea, watching her. “He is not so bad a fellow, Bella. Believe me.”
She realized he was fond of his brother and perhaps even loved him and she was embarrassed to have poked fun. “As you say, perhaps it’s not easy to have such a high station and have everyone in awe of you.”
“No. Perhaps the bastard son has the best of it, so Bastard Barstowe would be far too good a name for your brother.” He considered a moment. “I believe I will simply think of him as Slug.”
Bella almost choked on her chocolate. “Excellent. Henceforth, he is Sir Sluggaby Barstowe.”
They clinked cups, in perfect agreement, and returned to their meal.
“So how long do we have to give Sir Sluggaby his comeuppance?”
His expression altered, and she realized that she’d licked butter off her lips. “They say warm butter is injurious to health,” she said nervously, “but it is so delicious.”
“ ‘They’ are invariably killjoys,” he said.
“They are, aren’t they?” He was still watching her and had hardly touched his food.
“Eat!” she commanded. “Would you like hard eggs, cheese . . . ?”
“Are you going to mother me?” When she looked up, he added, “Or wife me?”
She caught layers of meaning in that and her cheeks went hot. “Don’t!” It had escaped without thought. “Don’t,” she repeated, “don’t tease me in that way here, now.”
“You’re right. I apologize. But it is almost irresistible, Bella.”
He began to eat again. Bella attended to her own food, tongue-tied.
“And,” he added, “it is delightful that you leave the door open to my teasing you that way in some other time and place.”
Bella looked at him, and honesty wouldn’t let her dismiss the suggestion. She was leaving the door wide-open, and to pain as well, but she was willing to take the risk. For now, however, they should return to business.
“What did you learn last night?”
“The Old Oak is as reported, and a fairly discreet place. Most of the men who game there also use the women. You are disturbed by my speaking of these matters?”
“No,” Bella said, “but I pity the poor women forced into that trade.”
“You have a kind and thoughtful heart. No one would think such work ideal, but there will always be some women who must earn their bread, and morality aside, there are worse ways.”
“No one should be forced to that,” Bella protested.
“Of course not.”
“I mean that no one should be so poor as to have no choice.”
He sighed. “I forget you are a social reformer. Where is the money to come from to fund these w
omen’s lives?”
“I don’t know. I’m sorry. It’s just that I’ve experienced being penniless and it imprisoned me because I wasn’t willing to take that road. Not everyone has food and shelter, however, and thus they are forced.”
He nodded. “Perhaps we need convents.”
“Convents?”
He took a piece of bread. “Convents gave women of means an honorable choice other than marriage, and poor women a refuge where they were safe from men. They also provided commanding women a place where they could rule. I think you might have made an excellent mother superior.”
“I?” Bella said in surprise.
“You’re young yet, but in twenty or thirty years you could cow bishops and kings. You have a natural command.”
Bella laughed. “Is that truly tea, or are you drinking brandy?”
He held the cup out. “Smell.”
Bella did. A slight aroma. Definitely not brandy, or any other sort of spirit. “I assure you I’m not that sort of person.”
“Has no one ever followed your lead?”
“No.”
But then she thought about it. Peg hadn’t precisely followed, but she’d attached her fate to Bella’s. Annie and Kitty had been taken in out of charity, but instantly looked to Bella for guidance. Some of the flock had turned to her with their concerns about the Drummonds, as if they expected her to be able to oppose them.
She looked at him and read his expression. “Don’t be smug.”
“Smug?” He laughed. “I don’t think anyone has ever described me as smug before. So you do have followers. Who?”
“None of your business, and not an army. It could be weeks before Augustus visits. How long can you dally here?”
She busied herself with bread to hide her intense interest, praying it would be a long time.
“How long can you dally?” he countered. “When does your relative return home?”
She’d forgotten that. “I’m not sure.” She had to give an estimate. “Perhaps a fortnight.”
“That would stretch our local inquiries,” he said. “We’d best pray your brother’s addiction brings him here sooner. Of course, he could have more than one haunt.”
Two weeks had been too much to hope for, but Bella hoped it would be many days before Augustus needed to live on the razor’s edge.
“Tonight, I need to visit the Old Oak and learn all I can there.”
“It seems to me that you are doing all the interesting tasks,” Bella objected.
“You want to visit a brothel?”
“No, how will it look to people here? Your wife might object.”
His nonwife certainly did.
“Will you throw a scene?” he asked, interested.
“I’m more likely to throw a pot. A chamber pot, perhaps.”
“Mistress Rose, you alarm me.”
“Good.”
“But in your service, I still must visit the Oak.”
Bella could see no rational argument against it. “Very well,” she muttered. “What do we do until you can sink into debauchery?”
“Search for Hessian cat- rabbits.” He drank the last of his tea and rose. “I’ll arrange for a vehicle. Try not to get into a fight with the cat queen of Hesse while I’m gone.”
He left, and Bella looked at the closed door, fighting tears. She realized it wasn’t a matter of a brothel. It was because her plan might be completed in one day.
In the past such speedy retribution would have been cause for joy, but now it meant only that their time together could soon be over.
Chapter 18
It had been dark when they’d arrived, but by daylight, even sullen daylight, Bella recognized Upstone and the countryside around. They drove along lanes, stopping at each farm or cottage to ask about cat-rabbits. They exhibited the specimens to the dubious, and for some reason Tabitha tolerated it. Sometimes she seemed to be reveling in the attention.
Even with the evidence, most of the farming folk expressed great doubt of any cat being interested in a rabbit in that way, and vice versa. Bella could see she and Thorn would be well remembered as those moon- mad London folk and their peculiar cat.
The kittens were enjoying the attention too, and Sable in particular often had to be returned to the fold.
In their wanderings, Bella noticed a few changes. A large elm had been struck by lightning near Pidgely, and someone had built a handsome house near Buxton Thrope. When they stopped in that village to make their cat-rabbit inquiries, they divided their efforts. There were some women gathered in gossip, and Bella went to them, while Thorn entered the inn to talk to men there.
A team, and they were a good one.
Bella casually asked how old the handsome house was, commenting upon its elegant lines. She soon learned all about it, but that wasn’t her goal. She’d made an opening to ask about other notable houses in the area, and whether any might be open to visit. She was fishing for opinions about Carscourt, and about Augustus.
Carscourt was soon mentioned, and one sturdy woman muttered, “But an ugly place that is. Ugly as the hearts inside it.”
Bella might agree, but she feared that picking up that stitch might make the woman turn silent. “Is it old?” she asked.
“Old, ma’am? Nay. No’ but a hundred years or so.”
“And has it always been in the same family?”
“The Barstowes? I dunno, ma’am.”
An ancient, bird-thin woman chimed in. “They came there during Cromwell’s time. Roundheads,” she spat.
“There was a royalist family there afore, the de Breelys, but none were left, or none that returned, so the Barstowes kept it.”
That was clearly regarded as theft.
Bella had never been aware that dislike of her family went so far back, but country memories ran long. The events of the past century—the beheading of the king, the long, strict rule by Parliament when all the joyous traditions were banned, and the return of the monarchy—all were still remembered here.
“I suppose the family is thoroughly royalist now,” she said, in the manner of one making peace.
“Maybe,” said the first woman, “but they’ve still got cold, Roundhead hearts. Sir Augustus had Ellen Perkins whipped for lewd behavior, and her only a widow with her needs.”
“What happened to the man?” Bella asked.
The woman gave a harsh laugh. “Fined. Ellen don’t have the money to be fined, but he might have ordered her whipped anyway.”
“And he put old Nathan Gotobed in the stocks for selling wares on Sunday,” said another woman. “Doing no one any harm.”
“They do say Sir Augustus was frothing mad that nobody threw anything at the old man there,” said a young woman with a babe on her hip.
“That’s why he don’t use the stocks much,” said the older woman. “It’s a fine or a whipping if you’re up in front of Sir Augustus Barstowe.”
Bella sensed a silent curse at the end of that, but the women weren’t going to go that far in front of a stranger. The weight of her family’s reputation lay heavily on her as she joined Thorn near the carriage.
“I really wish I could find the strength to kill him,” she said.
“You’ve heard about him too, have you?”
“What did you hear?”
“Just general cruelty, especially against those who drink, gamble, or behave licentiously. I wonder if all magistrates are harshest on those who commit their own sins, or even the sins they wish they dared commit.”
“I’d rather they took up self-flagellation,” Bella said.
“Amen. He has no admirers hereabouts, but no one mentioned hypocrisy. What of the women?”
“No.”
“Shame. Has anyone recognized you?”
Bella hadn’t been watching for that. “I don’t think so, and I don’t expect it unless I encounter someone I knew well. And even there, apart from my family and the Carscourt servants, any memories would be long in the past.”
“W
e’ll avoid the area close to Carscourt, then,” Thorn said, handing her up into the chair.
“The people there are less likely to talk about Augustus, in any case. They are completely dependent on him, poor souls.”
They continued their progression around the fringes of Barstowe influence, asking about cat- rabbits, but also bringing up Barstowe and Carscourt whenever they could. The dislike was sometimes overt, sometimes subtle, but it was universal. It was linked to Augustus, but went back to her father, and included her sister Lucinda, whose idea of charity, apparently, was to visit the poorest and lecture them on their fecklessness. Bella had assumed Lucinda’s charitable visits had included soup and warm clothing.
“I feel tainted,” she said as they drove to another village. “Perhaps I’m the same beneath. Perhaps my desire for revenge is proof of it. . . .”
He put a gloved finger over her lips, drawing the placid horse to a standstill. “There is nothing warped about that.”
“ ‘Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord’?”
“ ‘God helps those who help themselves.’ And speaking of helping ourselves . . .”
He slid his hand to cradle her face and leaned forward to kiss her.
It was a very gentle kiss—not tentative, but respectful. Not perhaps gentle so much as tender, and it melted Bella’s heart. Her lids drifted down and she sensed only warm lips. And birdsong, and the touch of a breeze, which both seemed to add to the magic of the moment.
He drew back and she opened her eyes. “Thank you,” she said without thinking.
“Thank you,” he said, with a sweet smile.
She’d never have expected a sweet smile from Captain Rose. “Changeable as the sea,” she murmured.
“What?”
“You told me that about you. At the Compass, when we were both drunk.”
He seemed blank.
Bella chuckled, feeling extraordinarily happy. “Perhaps you were drunker than you seemed.”
“I must have been. And yes, I am. Changeable. I prefer to think of it as many-faceted, but perhaps I deceive myself.”
“Many-faceted is like a stone. It’s hard. I prefer changeable like the sea.”
He laughed. “You clearly haven’t encountered a hurricane.” He took up the reins and they drove on.