Ruse & Romance (The Beaucroft Girls Book 1)

by Rogers, Suzanne G.

  Augustus sat next to Juliet and covered her hand with his. When someone cleared their throat in the drawing room doorway, he snatched his hand away and sprang to his feet. He expected to be taken to task for his small liberty, but Ivy merely crossed into the room and sat on the sofa.

  “I couldn’t help but overhear how everyone is taking blame for what has happened between Kitty and Philip.” She sighed. “I suppose I ought to take a double helping of blame myself.”

  Juliet stopped crying long enough to stare. “What are you talking about?”

  “I think I may have frightened Kitty out of her wits on the eve of her wedding. Like you, Augustus, I should have held my tongue. Sometimes people who are frightened have been known to lash out at others. Certainly I’ve been known to do so upon occasion. If Kitty spoke sharply to Philip, I may have inadvertently set the stage.”

  “Perhaps we all contributed to this tragedy in different ways. The question now is what can we do about it?” Augustus asked.

  “There’s very little we can do, unfortunately. The two of them are going to have to find their way back to each another,” Ivy said.

  “What if they don’t?” Juliet asked.

  Ivy nodded. “In that case, I’ll just have to give Kitty a little shove.”

  Dinner that night at Trestlebury House was a sober affair as Augustus revealed what he’d learned about the rift between Philip and Kitty.

  “I was worried their marriage wouldn’t thrive, but I could never have imagined it would be over so soon,” Lady Moregate said.

  “It’s not over yet,” Augustus said.

  “If it is, Philip deserves it,” Trestlebury said.

  Lady Moregate was taken aback. “That’s quite a harsh sentiment.”

  “I agree, Daniel,” Eve said. “I pray whatever happened between Kitty and Philip is resolved soon.”

  “Prudence could have married a duke!” Trestlebury pounded the table on every other word. “But because of Philip, she’s run off with a worthless viscount. I can assure you, neither Kirkham nor my daughter will receive a penny from me. Furthermore, Moregate, I hold you directly accountable for having raised an interfering lout!”

  “Now see here!” Moregate bristled. “Philip may be many things, but he’s not a lout.”

  “I’d expect you to take up for him!”

  Augustus held up a quelling hand. “Although I disagreed with my brother’s actions, they were hardly malicious. Philip was quite sincere in wishing for Prudence’s happiness.”

  “It was none of his concern!”

  “Apparently, her happiness was none of yours, either,” Eve said.

  “Furthermore, I must be allowed to speak for Lord Kirkham,” Augustus continued. “I’m well acquainted with the lad, and he’s a gentleman of the highest caliber. I hope at some point you will come around.”

  “Never. He’s not welcome in my house, and neither is your brother,” Trestlebury said.

  “You don’t mean that, Daniel,” Eve said, aghast. “You’ve allowed grief to cloud your judgment.”

  “I do mean it. Philip is your cousin by blood, not mine, which explains why you’re all flocking together.”

  Everyone visibly recoiled.

  “I’m afraid if my son isn’t welcome in your home, than neither am I.” Moregate’s tone was quiet. “I thank you very much for your hospitality, Trestlebury, but my wife and I shall be departing in the morning.”

  Eve’s lower lip trembled. “I believe I could use a little country air myself. I’ll accompany you, if you don’t mind.”

  “You’re more than welcome to stay as long as you like, Eve.” Lady Moregate took a deep breath. “If in the future you can find a little Christian charity in your heart, Daniel, you’ll be welcome to join us.”

  Trestlebury harrumphed. After Lord and Lady Moregate filed out of the dining room with Eve, Augustus gave Trestlebury a level stare.

  “I had believed Philip’s interference to be officious, but I’m beginning to wonder if my grasp of the situation was incomplete.” Augustus stood. “I’ll be moving to my club until I find more permanent accommodations in town. I understand you need time to adjust to what has happened, but I urge you to reconsider your position. Whether or not you care about us, your family cares about you.”

  As he followed his parents and cousin from the room, Augustus shook his head. He’d had no idea how intractable Trestlebury could be. It seems I owe Philip a sincere letter of apology.

  Ivy burst into Kitty’s bedchamber and threw back the curtains. Sunlight suddenly flooded the room, and Kitty groaned in pain.

  “Let’s have no more of this nonsense,” Ivy said. “You’ve been brooding in here for far too long.” She sniffed the air and made a face. “From the smell of it, I don’t think you’ve changed your clothes or bathed in a fortnight.”

  “There’s no point,” Kitty muttered. “My life is over, and I’m past caring about anything.”

  “Ridiculous! We’ve all made mistakes in life, but we don’t just lie down and die! I thought you had more spine than this, Constance.”

  “I hurt the finest gentleman I’ve ever known, Grandmama. I can never take back what I said, and he’ll never forgive me!”

  “I believe you’ll find he can, but not if you go to him dirty, bedraggled, and in need of a handkerchief.” She peered at Kitty’s unbrushed, tangled hair. “I shudder to think about getting a comb through that rat’s nest.”

  Kitty sat up and gave Ivy a baleful look, which she ignored.

  “I’m going to ring for the maid to draw you a bath and get you dressed. After you’ve had breakfast, you’re coming with me to Drake Manor.”

  “I’m not hungry and I just want to sleep.”

  “Your cheeks are sunken, your pallor is horrendous, and you’ve eaten nothing for days on end. How do you expect to win back your husband if you can’t even fill out your gowns properly? There’s only so much padding can do.”

  Tears began to leak from Kitty’s eyes, and she didn’t bother to wipe them away. “I don’t know where Philip is, Grandmama! I may have driven him into the arms of another woman.”

  “We’ve heard from Lady Moregate regarding a letter Philip sent just yesterday. He’s in Grovebrook.”

  Ivy sat on the bed next to Kitty and took her hand.

  “Listen to me, Constance. My husband was a despicable, self-centered brute, but my father forced me to marry him because he was rich. Not a day went by I didn’t hate Mr. Beaucroft. If truth be told, I believe his son—your father—hated him too. You’re extremely fortunate to have married a man of character. I like Lord Philip. I didn’t expect to, but he won me over. Now prove you have what it takes to deserve him.”

  “I don’t know if I can face him, Grandmama!”

  “It will be difficult, I grant you, but you’ll persevere. I’m determined to see you happy.” Her expression grew apologetic. “Now that I’ve met Lord Philip, I’m not wholly convinced what I told you about the intimate side of marriage applies.”

  Kitty was taken aback. “You think not?”

  “He adores you, child. If my husband had ever had any regard for me or my feelings whatsoever, I daresay I would have been more—” she cleared her throat “—enthusiastic about the process.”

  Ivy pulled the bell cord to call the maid. “Now, get out of bed and make yourself presentable. We’ve a ten o’clock train to catch.”

  Philip rode his horse alongside the road, surveying the progress made in its reconstruction. He beckoned to the supervisor, who hastened over.

  “Is the work proceeding to your satisfaction, milord?”

  “Tell your men there’s a substantial bonus in it for them—and for you—if they finish the work in two days. Is it doable, in your estimation?”

  “Aye, if we work overtime.”

  “Is that a problem, Mr. Andrews?”

  The lines in the man’s weathered skin creased when he smiled. “No, milord, weather permitting. We can use a bit of extra m
oney around here, if truth be told.”

  A nod. “Good. See to it.”

  On his way back through Grovebrook, Philip paused at the wreckage of the burned building, where several men were busy removing debris and draining the standing water. He would have dearly loved to rebuild the structure immediately, but until the other shops were filled with tenants, there was no point. A brief examination of the books had revealed evidence Mr. Pratt had been cheating his father for years. A lack of supervision had emboldened the man to mismanage Grovebrook, driving some tenants away and alienating the remainder. A notice for another man of business had been sent to the London papers, but it was too soon for replies. Patience had never been one of Philip’s virtues, but he had to remind himself steady progress was better than none at all. Mr. Pratt had been sent packing without a letter of reference, at least, and some long overdue repairs were underway. Admittedly, an argument could be made Philip was doing too much too soon, but the relentless pace helped keep his mind off his own agonizing loneliness.

  He returned home to the manor house, where an extensive overhaul was underway. He’d hired a temporary staff to remove all evidence of its most recent occupant and to clean the structure from top to bottom. The state of the garden alone had sickened him. Groundskeepers were busy clipping neglected hedges, pruning overgrown bushes and trees, and cutting the weed-choked grass. The large, stately home was lovely, however, with a classical, handsome pink sandstone exterior that had retained the beauty he remembered from his childhood.

  The blacksmith was affixing a new nameplate onto the building next to the doorway when Philip arrived. After handing off his horse to a groom, Philip went to admire the blacksmith’s handiwork.

  “Thank you for your prompt installation, Mr. Franklin.” He handed the blacksmith a quantity of pound notes. “I think that brings us up to date?”

  “Yes, sir.” He folded the notes into his pocket. “I’m grateful for the work, milord.”

  “Now that you mention it, there’s a rotting wooden sign just outside Grovebrook that needs replacing with something more permanent. Perhaps a prominent iron plate set in a brick or stonework column?”

  Mr. Franklin’s face lit up, as if with inspiration. “I’ll draw up a few designs for you. After you approve one of them, I can get started.”

  “I look forward to seeing your designs.”

  The blacksmith gave the newly installed plaque—marked CONSTANCE HALL—a final swipe with a clean cloth. “Does the name Constance have any special significance, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  Philip swallowed hard. “Constance is the Christian name of my wife, Lady Philip.”

  “I didn’t know you were married, sir! Will we have the pleasure of milady’s company soon?”

  “It’s quite unlikely. My wife vastly prefers town over country life.” He forced a smile. “Good day to you.”

  Philip continued inside the house, which smelled of soap and polish. The windows and doors were open to allow the place to air out, and the streaming sunshine illuminated dust motes raised by an army of scullery maids. Mr. Pratt had left the house in a wretched condition, but Philip had made one providential discovery: a very fine collection of wine had remained untouched in the locked cellar for decades. Fortunately, Philip’s father had given him the keys to the house, outbuildings, and cellar on his wedding day. To pay for the extensive repairs he’d undertaken, Philip had been obliged to sell many pieces of furniture, a few paintings, and most of the wine collection to a London merchant.

  He lit a lantern and brought it down into the cellar. The racks in the back were empty now, but he’d still retained more wine than he could drink in a year or longer. After selecting a bottle, he brought it with him into the library, the one room in the house Pratt had not bothered to venture. After the library had been dusted and aired out, the oak-paneled, majestic space had become Philip’s private retreat. He opened the bottle of wine, poured himself a glass, and sat staring out into space. Suddenly his laughter filled the room, and he found he couldn’t stop until a lack of breath forced him to fall silent. He’d acquired the property he so desperately craved, and married his ideal woman, yet he was destined to be alone the rest of his life.

  Now I understand the concept of Hell.

  Kitty, Ivy, and their lady’s maids arrived at Drake Manor before teatime. As the carriage rolled to a stop, Kitty felt a little strange being back at her grandmother’s house after such a long absence. The estate had been a frequent summertime destination in her childhood. Her grandfather had passed away when she was a baby, so she had no recollection of the churlish disposition Ivy had described. If her father’s frequent foul moods were any indication, however, he’d inherited a streak of the man’s nasty temperament. Of course, after my ill treatment of Philip, I’m in no position to throw stones at anyone.

  She was puzzled when Ivy directed the butler to leave her many trunks in the entryway.

  “Why not have them taken to my room, Grandmama?” she asked. “My maid should press and hang up my gowns.”

  “You’ll only need one,” Ivy replied. “You’ll not be staying long.”

  “I’ve just arrived! You can’t be serious.”

  “You’re to join your husband in Grovebrook as soon as the bloom is back in your cheeks. In fact, why don’t you take a walk right now? Enjoy the fresh air while I confer with the cook about your diet. We’ll have tea when you return.”

  Realizing Ivy would brook no opposition, Kitty threw up her hands in defeat. Outside, gravel crunched underneath her boots as she first crossed the courtyard and then stepped onto the velvety green lawn. Although she was loath to admit it to her grandmother, it felt good to stretch her legs after being cooped up on trains and carriages the entire day. In fact, she’d spent the better part of the past two weeks curled up in bed, feeling sorry for herself.

  Her tour took her around the chestnut tree on the south side of the property and back toward the garden, where many fond memories brought a faint smile. She and Juliet used to play here once upon a time. They’d even had tea parties with their dolls in the wisteria-covered gazebo. As she sank down on a stone bench to enjoy the fragrant floral perfume lingering in the air, she wondered what Philip was doing at that moment. Could he sense she was nearby? A stab of pain brought a fresh round of tears to her eyes. I’m such a fool. These past weeks we could have been here together, happy, on our honeymoon.

  Enough! She stood so abruptly, she nearly hit her head on a low-hanging branch. I’m tired of crying. Grandmama is right; I need to find my spine. Philip has every reason to hate me, but I must accept the blame and move forward. I’ll beg his forgiveness and win him back if it’s the last thing I do.

  Her shoulders were squared and her chin was lifted as she entered the house. She found her grandmother in the drawing room.

  “You must have had a nice walk,” Ivy said. “Your complexion is much improved already.”

  “I did, thank you. When is tea? I’m quite hungry.”

  Ivy gave her a pleased look. “That’s my girl.”

  Of course, Kitty began to doubt her resolve as her grandmother’s beauty and health regimen began to unfold. Ivy ordered the cook to incorporate clotted cream and delicious, sweet butter into almost everything on Kitty’s plate, including such dishes as scrambled eggs and mashed potatoes. Ivy also insisted she partake of regular exercise, whether she felt like it or not. Every morning Ivy pushed Kitty out the door to walk around the grounds, and every afternoon, she went riding. To make her skin glow, she choked down a teaspoon of cod liver oil before breakfast. Admittedly, being pampered wasn’t all bad. After dinner, Bridget applied peaches and cream beauty masks to her face, followed by dabs of almond oil. Her scalp received a nightly massage, and her hair was conditioned with an aloe vera concoction. An olive oil bath for her nails promoted their growth.

  Kitty cooperated as best she could, and slowly but surely, she became stronger.

  Chapter Ten

  Out of Tune


  PHILIP STARED AT THE SCORCHED PORRIDGE his cook set before him. The woman must have noticed his hesitation because she put her hands on her ample hips.

  “Is something amiss?”

  “Er, no. It’s just…do you suppose we could change breakfast up a bit one of these days? Perhaps eggs, bacon, and toast, for a start?”

  Her lips pursed. “It was good enough for Mr. Pratt.” She untied the strings of her apron. “You’ve got my notice.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I’m not used to cooking fancy, milord. It’s just too much.”

  She swept from the room with her nose in the air. He sighed and sat back in frustration. Mrs. Trench wasn’t much of a cook, but she was the only one he had. Running Constance Hall had been more problematic than he’d anticipated. After the place had been cleaned, he’d hired several local women as maids. Unfortunately, without a housekeeper to keep order, they’d quarreled with one another and all but one had quit. The groundskeepers and groom were satisfactory, but the house was in dire need of a butler. In addition, Philip had felt the lack of a valet more than he thought possible.

  Mrs. Trench appeared, wearing her hat and coat. “I’ll have my wages now, if you’d be so kind.”

  Philip set out coins on the tablecloth, and she swept them into her hand. She regarded him a long moment before making a sound of exasperation.

  “I’m going to do you a favor because you’re much nicer than Mr. Pratt. Mr. Horn would make you an excellent cook, I’d wager. He had a lovely restaurant in Grovebrook before it burned to the ground.”

  “Was the food any good?”

  “I heard tell it was, but I could never afford to eat there myself. I understand Mr. Horn learned his trade at some fancy London hotel.”

  “Er…what caused the fire?”

  “Weren’t his fault, if that’s what you’re thinking. The place was struck by lightning, but the well in town has gone dry and there wasn’t no water to put it out. Mr. Horn just stood there in the street along with the rest of us, watching it burn.”