Once Upon a Kiss (Book Club Belles Society)

by Jayne Fresina

  She looked startled, then peeved, her lips forming a tight pout.

  Darius turned to her. “I did not know you were a playwright, Miss Justina.”

  “She’s always scribbling stories,” Lucy Bridges exclaimed.

  “I see.” And telling them, too, he thought.

  Justina said nothing.

  “Besides,” added the annoying captain, “I doubt Diana will perform this year.” His eyes darkened as he looked at the young woman seated on the couch beside her mother. “Now that she is engaged.”

  Miss Makepiece relaxed her lips long enough to reply that she had not thought about it yet.

  “Of course Diana will act,” said Justina. “She is the best actress we have and by far the most convincing romantic lead.”

  “But Mr. William Shaw might object,” the captain replied. “He might not care to have his fiancée acting in a play. She must abide by the wishes of her greengrocer now.”

  “I do not think—”

  “Well, that is her choice, of course,” Sherringham added. “That is the sacrifice she makes, and she does like to make those.”

  Darius observed the heightened color on Miss Makepiece’s face and realized Captain Sherringham was deliberately tormenting her and possibly drunk, like his father.

  “What do you think, Rector?” the captain slurred at round-faced Mr. Kenton, who must have been invited again to increase the male contingent. “Surely you would not think it proper for an engaged young lady to perform in a play on the stage?”

  Mr. Kenton flapped his lips like a stranded pike. “Well, I—”

  “The greengrocer’s wealthy grandmama will certainly not approve of an actress in the family—even a very good one—and we must keep on that lady’s favorable side. Anything for the money and respectability. Is that not so, Mrs. Makepiece?”

  Diana’s mother looked gray and held a hand to the cameo at her throat. No one seemed to know what to say or where to look. Even Miles, who usually had a cheery retort for any occasion, was at a loss for once.

  Mary and her friend exchanged smug glances, which were not hidden from the other ladies.

  The discomfort in the room was palpable.

  Darius cleared his throat. “I’m sure Miss Makepiece knows her own mind and will do what is best for her.” He looked at Diana and added evenly, “No man, in possession of his senses, would ever try to stop certain young ladies doing as they please. Invariably”—he shot a quick glance sideways at Justina—“I find such an attempt will result in him sorely wishing he never raised an objection. Some ladies will always get their own way, and in such cases it is often to the gentleman’s advantage that she does.”

  “Quite so,” said Miles jovially.

  Mrs. Makepiece lowered her hand and when her gaze found Darius across the room the message in her eyes was clearly one of gratitude.

  His stepsister muttered that his housekeeper must be mixing something odd in his tea. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you put so many words together at once,” she added, frowning severely at him.

  “I told Wainwright the country air has its advantages,” Miles exclaimed.

  Rebecca Sherringham leapt to her feet and suggested they all play cards.

  The awkward moment had passed. It had won him no friendship with the captain, who now sulked into his cider, but Diana was smiling a little, and as for Justina…she stared at him as if he had two heads and at least one pair of horns.

  Darius was satisfied with that for now. It was a beginning.

  The group was quickly organized into two tables. Since none of the party from Midwitch knew the rules of the game chosen, they agreed to watch the first round and wait to join in. The first table, therefore, consisted of Justina and her sister, with Rebecca Sherringham and her brother. The second table held Diana Makepiece and her melancholy mother and Lucy Bridges and the rector.

  Mr. Kenton was indeed fortunate to be one of an extinct breed in that village, thought Darius. He certainly took advantage of it, accepting every invite thrown his way and looking quite at home in his place as a stout, chirpy sparrow amid all the pretty doves.

  Miles pulled up a chair between Lucy Bridges and the rector, who wanted his opinion on a new equipage he planned to purchase. Darius managed to move himself around the room slowly until he could take possession of a chair behind Justina, without anyone observing that it was not entirely by accident. At least, he hoped no one would notice.

  Fortunately, she did not immediately find some excuse to leave his proximity, but sat composed and even answered his quiet inquiry into her health with steady politeness. Tonight she wore a simply cut, velvet gown in a rich, dark wine color that complimented her coloring. It had long, narrow sleeves with small puffs at the shoulders and a V-shaped décolleté with a high waist in the Empire style. He took it all in, paying more attention to a lady’s gown than he had ever done before.

  “Mr. Forester told us you have a niece in London,” she said suddenly. “I wonder why you did not tell me of her. What is she like? How old is she? Perhaps she would have liked to perform with the Priory Players too.”

  “Sarah is fifteen. I think she is much too shy to act in a play.” He hesitated. “She likes to paint.”

  “Is that why you once asked me whether I liked to do the same?”

  “I suppose so,” he muttered, running his palms up and down his thighs, his hands too restless to be still tonight.

  She observed this, glancing downward. “It is a pity you did not bring your niece into the country. I would like to have met her.”

  These kind words, apparently uttered without sarcasm, fell upon his aching heart like a replenishing summer rain shower. He almost found the courage to move his hand from his own thigh to hers.

  The others at the table were laughing uproariously over some story the captain had begun to tell—complete with gestures and silly accents—so no one listened to the two of them.

  “I hope your stepsister is enjoying her stay,” she said, her voice so soft he had to lean closer to hear.

  He glanced across at the second table, which was where Mary and Miss Milford had moved their chairs at Miles Forester’s insistence. “She is no fonder of the country than I. Less so now.”

  Justina’s head turned slightly, and he watched the edge of her dark eyelashes flicker. The mother-of-pearl earbobs she wore trembled as she chuckled. “I daresay she came to keep an eye on you. For her good friend.”

  “Hmm.” He felt the near overwhelming urge to slide his finger between her earbob and her neck, to let his skin touch hers again. To stroke his fingertip down that gentle curve to her shoulder.

  “She must have been surprised when you extended your stay in Hawcombe Prior.”

  “Hmm.”

  Suddenly she raised her hand and pressed her own fingers to the very spot he had in mind. It was as if she’d felt his thoughts caress her there.

  “Darius!” his stepsister called out from the next table. “You must come here at once and help advise us on our cards. Now we are about to join in the game.”

  “You do not trust me to advise you, madam?” cried Miles.

  “Indeed not, Mr. Forester! You are too mischievous and will deliberately lead us astray.”

  Darius caught the bend of Justina’s lips as she smiled and then whispered, “Does your stepsister refer to herself in the first person plural, or does she mean for you to serve both her and her friend?”

  “I neither know nor care.”

  “Goodness, that is rather cavalier of you, Mr. Wainwright.” Her shock seemed genuine. Good. Let her be shocked.

  “Did you think me the sort of man to dash about at the bidding of any woman? Did you, at any time, read that in my character?”

  “But you just declared, before the entire room, that women know best. You should go where you are called.”
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br />   A card slipped from her hand to her lap and while everyone else was preoccupied with the captain’s story, Darius reached for it. His fingers brushed her thigh beneath the table, lingering over that soft velvet much longer than they should. There was no excuse for it and no apology. The need to touch her was too great and would not be denied.

  “What I said was for the benefit of your friend.”

  She snatched the card from his fingers. “Oh, then you lied! And there,” she chuckled teasingly, “I thought you said you never commit a sin and never did anything wicked.”

  “I did not say all ladies. I said certain ladies ought to get their own way.”

  “Does that include me?” she demanded with a funny little pout.

  He licked his lips. “Depends what it is you might want.”

  At the next table his stepsister called out for him again, her voice more strident this time.

  “Any moment now she will click her fingers at you,” Justina remarked, her voice husky with lack of breath.

  He feared that was all too possible, but then the woman beside him glanced across to the other table and called out merrily, “I’m afraid Mr. Wainwright is engaged in helping my sister and me, Lady Waltham. We need him here. I, in particular”—she turned her head to look at Darius—“am in need of his guidance. Am I not, sir?”

  He answered immediately with no equivocation. “Yes.”

  Her eyes were smiling, but whether it was for him or simply because she had amused herself by winning a small victory over his stepsister, he couldn’t know for sure. It was several moments before he could tear his gaze away from her, and then he saw that Mary and her friend were staring furiously at them both. Justina’s playful manner—whether she was cognizant of what she did or not—had succeeded in solidifying their suspicions about his relationship with her.

  He ought to move away and pay her less attention, before any wicked rumors were started. But then Captain Sherringham chided her crossly, “You don’t pay attention to the game, Jussy.”

  And Darius decided to stay beside her.

  Possibly the other man was angry because she had not listened to his foolish story. He was the sort to be discontented if he could not have the attention of every female in the room. Jussy, indeed, he thought resentfully.

  “My mind wanders,” said Justina, looking at the cards in her hand again. “What shall I play next, Mr. Wainwright? You had better point so the others do not hear.”

  With no experience of the game they were playing, he had no advice to offer, but he did not care to admit that.

  At the other table a quiet, orderly game took place; at this one all was noise and chaos, punctuated with groans and bursts of laughter. The object seemed to be that one should lie as efficiently as possible. Must be a country game, he thought dourly. Certainly it would appeal far more to those who were foxed or on the way to it. No doubt it was the captain’s choosing.

  “Perhaps you should whisper,” Justina added, “so the others don’t hear.” Raising her fanned cards before her lips, she waited for his compliance.

  Was she aware of his stepsister’s eyes searing holes in them both from the other table? Or was it the captain she tried to irritate with this display?

  Whatever her reasons, he would make the most of it. As she would say, “When one is bound to be in trouble anyway, one may as well make the most of it.”

  So he leaned closer to her ear. Partially hidden behind her cards, he lost himself in her delicate perfume and closed his eyes.

  He whispered.

  Twenty-eight

  At first she wasn’t sure she heard him correctly. The warm brush of his breath against her cheek was enough to muddle her thoughts even before the words came out.

  But the whispered syllables slipped inside her, wound their way through the labyrinth of her ideas and plans, and echoed until she could not mistake them for anything else.

  “I know what happened to Nellie Pickles.”

  Another card slipped from her hand to her lap. As he reached for it again, she did the same and their fingers met on her knee. Heart pounding, she let him hold her fingers briefly beneath the table.

  Rebecca prodded her arm. “Your turn again, Jussy. Do wake up!”

  She lifted the fallen card and set it down, not even knowing what it was. The firm pressure of Wainwright’s hand on her knee beneath the table suddenly moved slowly upward along her thigh.

  She was hot, her pulse too rapid. Keening desire, more fierce than anything she’d ever known, held her in its thrall.

  Only two more rounds of the table resulted in Rebecca claiming victory and disposing of all her cards.

  “Mr. Wainwright does not appear to be advising you very skillfully,” Rebecca muttered with a sly glance, as she gathered up her winnings. “Perhaps he is not a very accomplished liar. Unlike the rest of us.”

  “Hurry and deal the cards for another round,” exclaimed her brother crossly. “I have no intention of letting you win every last farthing, Becky!” The captain was very sharp this evening, his temper on edge. Tonight it made him far less agreeable company.

  Justina got up quickly. “I do not think I’ll play again. I cannot seem to concentrate.”

  “You are red, Jussy.”

  “I am a little warm. Perhaps I need to move away from the fire.”

  Everyone looked puzzled. They were quite far away from the hearth and the snoring major. The other table was much closer to the heat.

  “My gown,” she explained haltingly. “The velvet…”

  Wainwright got up with her. “Allow me to fetch you some apple cider, Miss Justina. That should help.”

  “Oh, bring some for me, Darius,” his stepsister called out. “And for Augusta. You are quite overheated in this small, overcrowded room, are you not, Augusta?”

  “I am indeed,” the lady agreed, wilting dramatically in her chair and fanning herself with the cards.

  Mr. Kenton scrambled out of his chair and exclaimed that he would get the cider for Miss Milford. The little man expressed such great concern for her that the lady could not protest and was obliged to accept his offer. Clearly frustrated, however, she kept her gleaming, unblinking eyes pinned to Darius and Justina as they moved toward the sideboard for refreshments.

  The rector joined them there and held out two cups while Justina ladled the cider into them. As soon as he had rejoined his table, she handed another cup to Wainwright and he held it by the handle while she filled it.

  “Please keep the cup steady, Mr. Wainwright.” She finally laid her free hand over his to help hold the punch cup still, but it did not improve matters much. It seemed as if neither had a very steady hand.

  Behind her the card players chattered and laughed. Miles Forester was very good at keeping Lady Waltham entertained, and the rector, despite being an awful jaw-me-dead, was managing to occupy Miss Milford. Cathy had not even looked up to see where Wainwright and her sister went and she was laughing again, deeply involved in the game. Justina was surprised that Mr. Forester had not sat beside Cathy tonight, but somehow the distance they kept was rather more obvious than if they had been inseparable.

  “So you must tell me now,” Justina whispered, turning back to Wainwright. “Nellie Pickles. What happened to her? She was murdered, was she not? How did you find out? Have you discovered her bones in the orchard? Perhaps Sir Mortimer dug them up? He does have a very good nose and likes to dig.”

  “Miss Penny, you have a most disconcerting habit of firing questions like musket shot.”

  “But I am eager to know her fate.”

  He looked at her hand on his. “I’m not certain I should tell you.”

  “Oh! Is it so terribly gruesome? Worry not. I have a strong tolerance for lurid details.”

  “You’ve overfilled the cup.”

  Alas, he was right. She had splash
ed cider on his cuff. Anguished, she dropped the ladle back into the punch bowl. “Hold it steady and I’ll take a sip.”

  He raised the cup to her lips, and she drank carefully. It was her first drink of the evening, and she immediately realized it was very strong. “Good Lord!” She wrinkled her nose. Trust Nate! Of course, he’d added something to the innocuous apple cider. No wonder he was drinking so much of it.

  “What is the matter?”

  She shook her head. “Nothing.” Once he had safely set the cup down, she gripped his sleeve. “Now tell me about Nellie Pickles, I insist!”

  Darius squinted down at her, half-smiling. “You really want to know? Are you certain? I would not want to bore you,” he sighed, “as is my habit.”

  She scowled as hard as she could. “You had better tell me, Wainwright, or else!”

  But suddenly Captain Sherringham appeared beside them, empty cup ready to be refilled. “What are you two whispering about?” he exclaimed loudly. Swaying against Justina, he laughed. “You soon changed your tune, Jussy. I thought you said no one likes the fellow…that he is merely a stupid cockatrice…now here you are all dewy-eyed…whispering in his ear. Traitors. The lot of you. Betrayers, heartless wenches.” He leaned over and thrust his cup directly into the punch bowl, not waiting for a ladle.

  Justina saw that Darius was about to speak, but she beat him to it, unable to bear her old friend making a fool of himself this way. “I think you’ve had enough of this concoction. It is hot in here, and the drink has gone to your head.”

  “Oh, Lord save us! Not you too. I’ve had my fill of humorless, lecturing females.”

  “This is nonsense, Sherry. Do not act in this foolish way. Trying to hurt Diana will hardly make her feel affection for you, will it?”

  “What do you know of anything? You’re a girl who takes nothing seriously. Get out of my way. I need a drink.”

  “I suggest you apologize to Miss Justina at once, Captain Sherringham.” Wainwright seemed ready to explode. He’d gone white, which made his eyes even darker, coal-black with fury.