Once Upon a Kiss (Book Club Belles Society)

by Jayne Fresina

  At the sight of a bright scarlet coat coming through the open barn doors, her mood lifted. Captain Nathaniel Sherringham, escorting his sister, made his way through the mob of villagers far too slowly for Justina’s patience. Usually she would set her punch aside and run through the dancers to greet him, but tonight, too aware of a certain pair of dark, disapproving eyes observing her from a shadowy corner, she must be more mature and that most terrible of all things—ladylike.

  At last, after an interminable wait, the Sherringhams arrived at their small group and all the usual polite salutations were quickly dispensed with in favor of the friendly jocularity more familiar to all those present.

  “You look—dare I say it—quite grown up tonight, Miss Jussy and Miss Lucy,” the captain exclaimed. “Have I been gone so long?”

  “Indeed you have! So much has happened here,” Lucy replied excitedly. “There are new folk in the village, including a youngish rector and a very grand inhabitant at Midwitch Manor. And Diana is engaged.”

  “So I heard.” He swiveled briskly on his heel to address Diana, who had not yet said a word. “William Shaw is a lucky fellow.”

  Unsmiling, she opened her fan and fluttered it wildly before her face. “Thank you, Captain Sherringham.”

  “He is a shopkeeper in Manderson, I understand.”

  Her eyes narrowed and her slender neck lengthened. “Mr. Shaw is a landlord and businessman with two shops and potential to expand with a third.”

  “And…not here tonight?”

  “He was unable to attend due to family obligations.”

  The captain stared at Diana while she kept her expression composed. Her fan was the most demonstrative thing about her. “I am disappointed,” he said softly. “I should like to meet the fellow who won your heart and your mama’s approval.”

  “Excuse me.” Diana swept away, still fanning herself with extreme force. Her mother had been waving to her from across the barn for several minutes, but from Diana’s manner anyone would think she had not seen her immediately.

  Mrs. Makepiece was a handsome woman who, twenty years ago, having found herself widowed suddenly, left with nothing but a baby and her deceased husband’s gambling debts, moved to Hawcombe Prior to keep house for her brother, the previous vicar. Now that he too had tipped up his boots, she and Diana did the best they could living on what little he’d left them. Justina had heard that Mrs. Makepiece came from an upper-class background, but she left her family behind when she entered a misalliance with a man beneath her—a man who was handsome and witty, but faithless and untrustworthy. It was a bitter lesson, plainly read in the hard lines that sometimes appeared across her brow, spoiling the features of her face.

  Her brother, for many years the only family member who would acknowledge her after the scandal of her elopement, had sheltered the widow and her child out of charity. And he never let her forget it. Indeed the people of Hawcombe Prior might never have known she was his sister, for he always referred to her as his housekeeper and treated her thus.

  Over the years, as Diana grew into an intelligent, attractive girl with good manners, she was apparently deemed “acceptable” by some members of her mother’s estranged family, for she had been invited to visit cousins near Oxford on occasion. But Mrs. Makepiece kept a tight rein on her only daughter, and Justina suspected Diana would not be allowed to make the same mistakes with her life.

  The captain watched her go and then turned back to the other ladies. “Well, I must say, Miss Makepiece has become quite tired and sour-looking. I might not have recognized her. She has lost her bloom.”

  “I am sorry for her,” said his sister.

  “Why?” he demanded, hands behind his back, a curt, hard laugh sputtering out of him. “It is her choice. Through bias and persuasion one might be prevented from marrying a person, but no sensible woman is forced to wed against her will in this day and age.”

  “It is all so simple for you, Nate.” Rebecca scowled at her brother.

  He shrugged. “I cannot see that there is anything to pity her about.”

  His sister explained in a low voice, “I am sorry for Diana because she has bartered her best gown all for a little fictional romance, in hope it will replace the lack of real love in her life. She yearns for what she doesn’t have and thinks she cannot have.” She looked over to where their friend now stood with her mama. “But I suspect she would thank no one for pointing that out to her. She is doing her duty, making her sacrifice for the mother who struggled all these years to raise her alone.”

  Justina followed Rebecca’s gaze and realized it was true. She had been so busy mocking the romance in Pride and Prejudice that she failed to see how it fulfilled certain needs in the heart of the young woman who went to such trouble to acquire it. “Well, it makes me angry that Diana would marry a tedious fellow like Shaw if she doesn’t love him. I would not marry for anything other than the most passionate and devoted love.”

  “I did not think you believed in love, Jussy,” Rebecca retorted with a wry smile.

  “I never said that,” she replied, feeling very warm suddenly. “I merely believe it does not happen often. And I think it very sad when the presence or lack of money blinds people to the things they really need to be happy.”

  “I do not blame Diana for getting William Shaw while she could,” said Lucy. “Even if he does tell the most uninteresting stories ever and has hairy nostrils. A girl can overlook a few faults for that sort of pin money.”

  Justina once again wondered at the things that went on inside that fair head lately. “Lucy Bridges, you have become quite a mercenary hussy.”

  The others laughed and Lucy pouted.

  “You would not marry for money then, Miss Jussy?” the captain inquired with a playful smile.

  “Indeed I would not.”

  “I am glad to hear it. Very sensible of you.”

  “I don’t plan to marry. I may not be a woman of independent means, but I shall always be of independent spirit!”

  “But she would be a rich man’s mistress. She said so. It is preferable, she thinks, to being a wife.” Lucy’s high-pitched voice won out over the music and several faces turned their way, including—to Justina’s horror—that of Wainwright and his friend.

  Fortunately Captain Sherringham was a gallant fellow, who knew what to do in a crisis. He offered Justina his hand and bowed smartly.

  “Perhaps you’ll honor me with a dance, Miss Jussy?”

  “Certainly, Captain,” she replied, head high despite her over-heated cheeks. “Delighted to oblige.”

  Twenty

  It was very warm in that crowded barn. Darius sat with his hands on his knees, feeling out of place in his fine evening clothes, watching the villagers become slowly more inebriated. His head spun with the unremitting noise of giddy, raucous laughter. So much dust was kicked up by the dancing, stomping feet that he could taste it on his tongue.

  Watching Miss Justina Penny dance with a very smug fellow in a scarlet coat, his discomfort rapidly multiplied. The couple laughed and chattered easily in a familiar way, teasing one another when they forgot the steps or moved in the wrong direction.

  Darius, who always worried too much about getting his steps exactly right, could not imagine being able to laugh at a mistake.

  Fingers digging into his knees, he watched the two of them making sizeable fools of themselves. When the dance was over, they stood close together, talking. Then they walked, arm in arm, to where her friends waited.

  Miles returned to his side. “Have you not danced yet, Wainwright? Surely you cannot say there is no one to dance with. There are far more ladies present than gentlemen.”

  Darius felt his tight, reluctant lips crack like a fissure in marble. “I’m sure the ladies prefer your company.” Without moving his head he searched the crowd and saw that Miss Justina and her friends had dispersed. L
ucy Bridges was now dancing with Sam Hardacre, who spun her around like the sails of a windmill, and the tall, auburn-haired girl danced with the rector. There was her quieter friend—the one with the somber expression and pretty green eyes, talking to the elder Miss Penny. But no sign of Justina in that virginal white muslin gown with the little yellow sprigs.

  He raised a finger to his cravat and loosened it. His gaze picked over the scene with increasing irritation.

  Where could she have gone? It was never wise to let a lively young woman out of sight. Her parents were there by the punch bowl, and they did not seem at all concerned about their missing daughter. Darius shook his head. This was how bad things happened. Crowded, noisy parties like this, wild young girls left unguarded. Too much punch consumed and smug fellows in uniform, hanging about to take advantage of a stolen moment.

  Was this buffoon, this “wag,” who seemed to find everything an amusing jape, the captain she’d planned to meet for an illicit bedchamber romp in Bath?

  Ice slivers formed in his veins.

  “I need a rest, old chap,” Miles was saying. “I give you leave to take my place with the ladies. Try not to bore them too much.”

  “Thank you. I prefer to sit here and wait for you to be done making an exhibit of yourself.”

  “But look, Wainwright. Over there is the very lovely Miss Penny. Imagine my surprise when I realized she and I had danced together once before in Bath! And she is currently without a partner. I would dance with her again if it was not unseemly to monopolize the same young lady all evening. You must dance with her now, before she is snapped up by another.”

  “I appreciate your concern to find me a partner, Forester, but rest assured I am content to observe the festivities.” Darius still could not see that red coat or Justina. He tugged again on his cravat and then the cuffs of his evening coat. Something about his attire was extremely uncomfortable. He had never perspired so much simply from sitting in one place, and yet inside he was cold to the bone.

  In a deeply disgruntled tone, he added, “I have seen enough folk making dancing fools of themselves tonight, acting without decorum or dignity. I’ve no intention of doing the same.”

  “But Wainwright—”

  “I see a great deal of misbehavior that can only lead to trouble and if you ask me, those Penny girls are left unguarded far too often. The younger one in particular. Her manners leave much to be desired. I’ve never known a young woman so brazen. Every encounter I’ve suffered with her has left me wounded or stained in one way or another.” And then, afraid he’d said too much about her and was in danger of rousing his friend’s suspicion, he added, “Whatever her name is. I have forgotten it.”

  ***

  Justina had approached the benches with the intention of saying a polite good evening to Wainwright. He may not be the dancing sort, but she could at least show her maturity and notice his presence. There was also a slight satisfaction to be had in forcing him to acknowledge that he’d seen her. She was, after all, wearing her mended best gown and Cathy had helped dress her hair in a new style. She’d been told she looked quite passable for once.

  Then she heard his comments.

  Quickly she changed her mind about approaching the miserable fellow. Just before she turned away, Miles coughed and got Wainwright’s attention. He glanced over his shoulder and saw her standing there, half in shadow. She had no doubt her face was glowing. His, however, was suddenly drained of color.

  There was nothing to say to him, she decided, and he could not possibly have anything to say to her. The girl whose name he did not even know.

  Returning to the brighter side of the barn, she sought out her sister, who was full of excitement at having recognized her dancing partner from Bath.

  “Jussy, do you not recall that he was dancing with me when you caused that riot and he had to leave with his friend? I knew he seemed familiar, but I could not place it!”

  “I did not cause a riot. It was not my fault.”

  “Yes, but Mr. Forester was the gentleman dancing with me when it happened. I was terribly sorry to see him leave.”

  “He left you in the midst of a dance, Cathy. It was very rude.”

  “But he had no choice. He had to leave with his friend for they came in the same coach.”

  Justina sneered. “I daresay everyone does what Mr. Wainwright says.” She straightened her spine in a manner that would have made her mama proud. “He must be accustomed to having folk at his beck and call.”

  “Here he comes now, moving very purposefully toward you.”

  Justina’s pulse was as uneven as a line of her own hasty stitches.

  “I do believe he will ask you to dance,” said Cathy.

  “Me? I very much doubt it.” He had better not dare, she thought angrily. Just let him say one word to her and she would—

  “Miss Penny.” He was there before them, bowing. “And Miss Justina. No butterflies this evening?”

  She looked up in time to see his lip curl disdainfully. While she was still composing a suitable reply, struggling to calm her temper and move her stiffened tongue, Cathy politely replied to his greeting and asked how he enjoyed the dance.

  Justina’s mind raced. If she had a cup of punch in her hand she might have thrown it all down his dull, spotless, very expensive waistcoat. Let that one be stained too, just like the one in Bath.

  He’d fondled her and kissed her when no one was there to see. He treated her like a plaything. Would no doubt take advantage of her innocence if she had stayed in his clutches. But he was still sneering at her and her family. Still looking down his long nose at her, as he did in Bath.

  And she, swept up in a generous mood after perusing his great-uncle’s love letters, had imagined he too might have a gentler side, and that she might befriend him.

  Befriend him? Ha! He would not want her friendship. The blasted man could not be helped. He would never get out of the way of his own arrogance and conceit.

  “May I have the honor of the next dance, Miss Justina?”

  Oh, the sheer bold-faced gall of the man! “Did your friend remind you of my name, sir?”

  “Of course not. I do not need reminding of it.”

  Perhaps he did not realize what she’d heard. She swallowed, stared at his broad shoulder, tried to catch a breath.

  He stood before her, waiting, expecting her to feel honored, no doubt, that he singled her out. That he lowered himself to dance with her.

  Justina licked her lips, heaved a deep breath and demanded, “Why?”

  Wainwright’s eyes narrowed like arrow slits in his stony fortress face. “Why?”

  “You don’t actually want to dance, do you?”

  He paused, apparently confused for a moment. “I am assured by my friend that it is the established mode of movement on such occasions.”

  Justina bit the inside of her mouth and it smarted. “I hope you do not assume I stood here waiting for a partner. I don’t feel the need to dance just because everyone else does.”

  “Neither do I, madam. It seems we can agree on that much, at least.”

  Cathy pinched her arm.

  She ignored it. “I am quite exhausted from dancing already, sir.”

  “I am not surprised, madam. I am exhausted from watching you.”

  He did not move away, but remained before her like a great obstacle in her path, his face grimly forbidding, eyes unblinking, lips firm. Apparently he would not allow her to dance with anyone else until she danced with him. In her peripheral vision she spied their mama heading toward them and knew the mortification was only about to get worse, so she finally accepted the hand he offered and let herself be dragged into the dance. All around them, she knew people were watching and must be marveling at his strange choice of partner.

  The band struck up a new tune—a rowdy country jig. Usually it was a dance
that Justina enjoyed more than any other, since it gave her an excuse to bounce about vigorously, but this time there was none of that joyous freedom she felt when dancing with Captain Sherringham. It was an ordeal, painful and dolorous. She went through the motions, her heart simply not in it. This man danced with her because he felt obliged, or else he wanted to correct her manner of dancing. Either way there could be no delight in it. There was too much anger bubbling away inside her and, try as she might, she could not be like Cathy and bottle it away in a pickling jar.

  “If you meant to dance only so late in the evening, you should have danced with one of the other ladies, Mr. Wainwright. Any one of them would make a more obliging, more elegant partner. I have a tendency to forget the steps.” She pressed her toe hard upon his. “Oops.”

  He wheezed, “I have observed your peculiar manner of making up your own steps.”

  “I cannot help it. I always feel mine are more suited to the music.” She turned the wrong way and clapped a beat before everyone else. Let the wicked old bugger try to keep up with her, she thought smugly.

  He gripped her fingers a little too tightly and she stifled a yelp. “Do you like to paint, Miss Justina?”

  “Oh, Lord, are we going to have blasted conversation?” she groaned. “Is it not bad enough already? I doubt either one of us really wants to talk to the other, and I ought to concentrate or I might embarrass you with my ineptitude. As well as my brazen manners.”

  Wainwright squeezed her hand again. “It is a civil question, madam. It deserves a civil answer. I have always endeavored to answer your many and varied questions.”

  “Yes,” she snapped. “I paint. What else do you want to know? I paint with all the wrong colors stirred up together,” she added smugly, “and I always paint outside the lines.”