Bewitching Kisses (Bewitching Kisses Series)

by Rainy Kirkland

  Chapter Four

  Nick rose as the French couturiere entered his study. “Ah, Madame Rousseau, how good of you to come.”

  “But of course, monsieur.” Charlotte Rousseau smiled as Nick executed a courtly bow and then kissed the back of her hand. “You know you have only to send for me and I am at your service.” She didn’t mention the two customers she had shooed from her shop or the appointment she had canceled. If Nick Beaumont wished her presence she would be there, for there was a debt between them that had nothing to do with money.

  Charlotte accepted the julep Nick offered. “Ah, my favorite.” she sighed, taking a sip of the sweetened rum drink. “And what can I do for you, mon ami?”

  Nick set his own glass aside and wondered exactly where to begin. “I have a guest in my home, Madame, who is in dire need of clothing.” He watched Charlotte’s pale gray eyes grow wide as he quickly shared the story of Sarah’s kidnapping. “So you see,” he concluded, “in order to protect her reputation, she needs a – “

  “She needs a wardrobe worthy of a guest in the Beaumont household, does she not?” Charlotte interrupted. “I can certainly do that. But Nicholas, what of your grandmama? Surely you do not think to fool her with this crazy plan of yours. She would certainly remember if she had met your Sarah’s family and with but one false word all would be lost.”

  Nick rose and began to pace, uncomfortably with the easy way Charlotte had labeled Sarah as his. “I shall handle my grandmother. I need only know if you can provide the necessary garments in a timely fashion.”

  Charlotte nodded and rose to stand before him, wishing, not for the first time, that she was ten years younger. “I shall help you, mon ami, but your grandmamma is going to make your life living misery when she finds out that you have deceived her.”

  Nick took her hands and squeezed gently.“I am thirty and three, madame, I love Gran dearly for all that she has done for me, but my gratitude does not run so deep that I can allow her to dictate my life. The price is simply too high. Besides,” he winked, “if all were calm, she would have nothing to complain about.”

  Charlotte shook her head and reached for her sketchpad. “Enough,” she chided, “or you’ll have me believing you are doing this for your grandmama’s benefit. Now where can I find this petite enfante who you have rescued?”

  “Madame, you are a dear friend.” Nick smiled as he opened the door to his study.

  Charlotte Rousseau looked back over her shoulder. “You won’t think so, cher ami, when you get my bill.”

  Less than half an hour later, Charlotte again found Nick in his study. “She is indeed enchanting, Nicholas, but I fear we have a small problem.”

  Reluctantly, Nick pulled himself from his work. He had lost too much time already, and his patience was beginning to wear thin. “Madame, I am up to my ears, as you can see.” He gestured to his cluttered desk. “If you fear the cost is a problem, best put it from your mind. Sarah may choose, with my blessing, anything you can create for her. Does that satisfy you?”

  Charlotte nodded. “You mean to purchase an entire wardrobe?”

  “Of course. The only clothing she has is the absurd garment that Mrs. Killingham was kind enough to lend to her.”

  Charlotte’s eyes narrowed with thought. “Mon ami, ‘tis not that I don’t appreciate your business, but . . .”

  “Enough,” Nick interrupted. “Madame, I want her to be outfitted completely from the skin out and with a variety of gowns. The cost matters not, so let your conscience be at ease.”

  The smile faded from her lips. He’s in love, she thought, watching Nick’s dark head bend again over the column of figures. Charlotte felt the last dream of her youth begin to crumble. She was respected and successful, but Nick would never turn to her in wonder and declare his love. She would never feel his strong arms gather her close, except in friendship. He’s in love and he hasn’t even realized it yet, she thought. Her eyes pressed closed from the painful reality.

  Nearly fifteen years had passed since the night she had gathered her courage and approached Nicholas Beaumont in the Blue Horse Tavern. She had offered her body for his pleasure, knowing the pocket change he carried would pay her rent for more than a year, and although she had approached him privately, Nick’s friends had accurately interpreted her intentions. They publicly laughed and scorned her offer. Nick was legendary with the ladies, they touted. He didn’t have to pay for pleasure. And what would he want with an old hag like herself? Charlotte shuddered from the memory. She had been only six years his senior, but in that moment she had felt as ancient and desirable as Medusa. Desperation had given her a stubborn streak, and with her pride shattered, she had asked young Nicholas for a loan.

  Charlotte opened her eyes and smiled sadly as she watched Nick tally his last column of figures. He had known her only as the widow who did mending for his grandmother, but he had not laughed at her that night as his friends had done. He bought her a drink and a meal, listened intently to her needs, and then turned her down flat. He would not loan her the money, he had stated, but he would consider a partnership. And thus their unlikely friendship had been formed.

  With the burden of keeping a roof over her head lifted from her shoulders, she was free to do what she did best – design clothing. Nick arranged for her fabric to be imported at his expense, and within months she had had more orders than she could fill.Now, fifteen years later, she owned her own home and her own business. Her daughter lived in France studying the latest fashions and her son attended university in England. Five girls now worked for her, and everyone of station wore clothing made by Madame Rousseau. Nick looked up, piercing her with the crystal-clear sapphire eyes that always caused her heart to flutter.

  “I understand your intent, mon ami.” Charlotte struggled to keep her voice even and her smile in place. “But are you sure you wish to leave the choices to Sarah?”

  “I see no reason not to.” Nick made a final notation and set down his quill. “How soon can you have something ready?”

  Charlotte rose, feeling each of her thirty-nine years, and silently cursed the circumstances that had tossed Sarah onto Nick’s doorstep. “I shall send something around before the evening meal, mon ami.” Donning her cape, she paused at the door. “Just remember that I bow to your judgment in this matter and am doing as you wish.”

  Sarah smoothed the gentle folds of the new gown and surveyed herself in the tall looking glass. Vanity had never held a place in her upbringing, and now she wasn’t exactly sure how she felt about seeing so much in herself. Prudence Thompson had owned a looking glass once, she remembered. But it had been a small one. The glass fit into the palm of Prudence’s hand and didn’t allow one to view both mouth and eyes at the same time. Now, as she gazed before her, she could see the top of her head and the toe of her shoe all at once.

  Sarah shook her head in wonder. Madame Rousseau had done such a beautiful job and so quickly. Had she herself made the gown it would have taken two days at least. It would have mattered not that the cut was simple and the style plain. She turned up the hem of the skirt and ran her finger over the smooth, even stitches, each perfect in its placement. The lady was truly a marvel. Carefully, she smoothed the skirt back into place as her fingers gently brushed back and forth over the fabric’s soft nap. Never had she owned a gown so fine.

  Sarah combed her hair back from her face and secured it with the pins Madame Rousseau had lent her. ‘Tis still too fancy to do housework in, she thought, looking at her reflection, but mayhap if I’m careful. . . Sarah smiled, realizing that for the first time since she had been taken from her home, she was beginning to feel like her own self again. And for that she owed thanks to Nicholas Beaumont. Indulging in one final look, her smile deepened at the image she presented. I am going to be the best housekeeper Nicholas Beaumont has ever encountered, she declared solemnly. And with her determination firmly in place, Sarah went to seek her chores.

  The hall clock struck the hour of seven as Nick e
ntered the dining room. A frown marred his features when he saw that three places had been set at the large oaken table. He was in no mood for company and, try as he would, he couldn’t remember extending an invitation for anyone to join him. Determined to get an answer, he reached for the small golden bell that sat beside his place. Wadsworth entered immediately bearing a silver platter and set it on the sideboard. But before Nick could voice his question, Sarah entered and added the covered dish she carried to those already displayed. The butler turned and was gone as silently as he had come, but Sarah remained.

  She reached for Nick’s plate, meaning to serve him, but his angry words halted her actions.

  “What in the devil are you wearing?” he challenged.

  Stunned, Sarah felt all sanity flee from her body as she silently stood before him. Nick paced completely around her frozen form.

  “What is this?” His fingers ran down the long, fitted sleeve of her black velvet gown.

  Sarah clutched her hands tightly together. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered to the ground before looking up to face Nick’s displeasure. “I know I should not have chosen such a costly garment, but Madame Rousseau insisted that it be made in this fabric. I’ll take it back at daybreak tomorrow and ask her to exchange it for one less expensive.”

  “Less expensive?” Nick eyes narrowed. “I can’t even imagine this gown coming from her shop.”

  Sarah gave a weak smile, understanding his distress. “It is beautiful, is it not?” she sighed. “Still,” she straightened her shoulders, “it is much too fancy for a housekeeper and I shall return it as soon as possible. But you must admit, Madame Rousseau is most talented.”

  Nick’s frown deepened. “You mean to tell me that that gown is one of Charlotte’s designs?”

  Sarah grimaced, wishing his scowl wasn’t quite so fierce. “I did ask her to make several changes,” she stammered. “But Madame Rousseau assured me that the added fabric at the neck and sleeves would not alter the cost.”

  Nick stared and wondered how in such a scant amount of time Sarah could have charmed the most stubborn dressmaker in Virginia into creating a garment so plain that even his cook would have refused to wear it. The neckline reached her throat and had no collar to decorate. The sleeves were long and fitted, but they, too, sported no cuff. The black velvet was indeed a fine choice of fabric, but not a sprig of lace or a single bead graced the gentle folds of its skirt. Nick shook his head. Sarah looked magnificent.

  “I’m very sorry to have caused you such distress.” Sarah whispered, suddenly close to tears.

  Nick felt his anger drain as he watched her eyes grow bright. “Forgive me.” He spoke gently and moved to the chair on is right. “You look lovely. I would not think of asking you to return something that brings you such pleasure.”

  Sarah blinked back her tears, raised her eyes to his, and felt her breath leave her body. He was the most handsome man she had ever encountered. The skin on his face was smooth and tanned, and the blue of his eyes startled her with its brilliance. She watched him pull back a chair and motion for her to sit. “But I thought – “

  “Hush,” Nick interrupted. “It was the plain style of the gown that startled me, not the cost. I had expected to see you in something more grand.”

  Sarah’s eyes grew wide in confusion. “Grander than this?” Her tone clearly carried disbelief. As Nick smiled, Sarah felt her heart begin to thump loudly in her chest.

  “You are beautiful.” Nick continued, realizing that she had not an inkling of how comely she appeared. And if a simple gown could give her such elegance, what a vision she would make in one of Charlotte’s special creations. Nick made a mental note to visit Madame Rousseau first thing in the morning. He reached for the platter of meat that rested on the table before them and passed it to Sarah only to notice her brow wrinkled in thought. “Is there something amiss?” he questioned.

  Sarah swallowed hard. It was not her way to instruct others or to point out their faults, but her upbringing would not allow the Lord to be slighted. “In the confusion I have caused with the new gown, I fear we have forgotten to give thanks.” She replied softly, praying her response would not bring him embarrassment.

  Nick’s puzzled look returned. “Thank who for what?” He watched Sarah’s violet eyes grow round with amazement. Then she smiled. That mouth, he thought, watching the edges curl gently upward. Had he ever seen anything so deliciously sensuous?

  “You are teasing me, aren’t you?” Still smiling, she bowed her head.

  For several seconds Nick stared at her bent head and folded hands until it dawned on him she was waiting for him to offer a prayer of thanks for their meal. How was it possible, he wondered for her to appear both captivating and innocent at the same time? Shaking his head, he mumbled words he hoped would be appropriate. She was a paradox to be sure, and silently he vowed to find the answer.

  When Sarah raised her head and unclasped her hands, Nick reached for the meat platter and again Sarah frowned. Sitting it down with an impatient thump, he directed his full gaze upon her.

  “Is there something else I have forgotten?” he questioned, noting the blush that stained the porcelain of her cheeks.

  Sarah heard the impatience in his voice and knew she was the cause. “Should we not wait for Wadsworth to join us?” She looked pointedly at the third place set across from her.

  Nick stared in amazement and wondered where she had gotten such a ridiculous idea. “Madame,” he said slowly, “I consider myself a fair employer, but I do not eat with my servants.”

  Sarah’s face bloomed a bright scarlet as she jumped from her chair. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she stammered, trying to maneuver the gown’s full skirt from between the table and chair. “I didn’t realize. I thought . . .” she looked down at the place she had assumed would be hers and realized the magnitude of her error. It had never occurred to her that they would not eat together.

  Sarah struggled to keep her composure, but in her haste her chair tipped precariously. She turned to grab for the falling chair, but the velvet nap of the gown caught on the tablecloth, and as Sarah moved, the table covering moved with her.

  In the blink of an eye, Nick was on his feet to rescue both the chair and his dinner. Catching Sarah by the arms, he stilled her motion. “Stop.” He commanded. The tone of his voice left no room for argument, and he felt Sarah turn to stone under his hands. His fingers gentled. “Look at me.” When she refused to raise her head, Nick released one arm and, using only the arc of his forefinger, lifted her chin until their eyes locked. “I’ve embarrassed you,” his voice was warm and soothing, “and for that I apologize.”

  Sarah shook her head. This was all wrong. She was the one who had committed the error. “But I . . .” Nick’s finger touched her lips, halting her words.

  “I am the master of this household, and if I say that I was wrong, then you shall not contradict me. Do you understand?” Sarah nodded, and beneath the touch of his hands, her body was assaulted with fiery sensations she did not understand. What was it about this man that made her feel both safe and threatened at the same time?

  “Now, I would like to eat my dinner in the company of a beautiful lady. Do you mind?”

  Sarah shook her head slowly and wondered if he could hear the disappointment that pounded through her flesh. But before she could turn to leave, he was setting her chair to right and gently guiding her back to her place at the table. Had he meant then that she was beautiful? Numbed with confusion, she silently allowed him to seat her and watched as he returned to his place at the head of the table.

  They ate in silence. Sarah had no memory of what passed her lips as, fascinated, she watched Nick sample each of the dishes presented. Never in her life had she beheld such an abundance of food. Even at the grandest of occasions, her Salem neighbors would have considered the meal extravagant and wasteful. Even her father, who had dearly loved his meat, would have frowned at the serving of four different kinds of fowl at the same meal. And
such quantity! She thought, watching Wadsworth clear the platters from the table and sideboard. Why, a score of neighbors could have joined them and still the dishes would not have been emptied. Wadsworth returned with a tray of sweets, and Sarah could contain her amazement no longer.

  “However do you eat so much and stay so fit?” Even as the words left her mouth she regretted them.

  Nick smiled, liking the way her cheeks bloomed with color. “So you think I look fit?” His brow wriggled and his smile became a comical leer.

  Refusing to be cowed, Sarah gave him a long, appraising look. “I think that if you consume many more meals of that magnitude, you’ll not retain your trim figure. Your breeches are already. . .” As his smile deepened, Sarah felt the words lock in her throat. Again her skin grew hot. What had she been thinking of to mention something so personal? If Nicholas Beaumont wished to wear breeches that fit like a second skin, it was his choice to do so. But it was certainly not her place to mention it. Stealing a glance in his direction, she watched his eyes turn a darker shade of blue. What was it about this man that caused her to say the first thing that popped into her head? She wasn’t normally flighty and indiscreet, yet he had only to look in her direction and she felt as if her feet no longer touched the ground.

  “I think you need a sweet, little Sarah.” Nick winked. “Your disposition is growing tart.” Nick offered a fluted crystal glass the likes of which Sarah had never seen. He placed the confection before her and dipped her spoon into the creamy top. “‘Tis called syllabub.” He said, lifting the spoon to her lips. “A lemon cream mixture that sits on brandy.” Captivated by his smile and the soothing sound of his voice, Sarah obediently opened her mouth and felt the tart cream melt on her tongue. Their eyes locked as Nick slowly pulled the spoon from her lips.

  The spell was broken as Wadsworth chose that moment to enter the room. Sarah immediately jerked back in her chair and wiped her lips with her napkin.

  “I beg pardon, sir, but I thought you would want to know that Miss Ruby was at the door with a note from Mrs. Beaumont.”

  Nick scowled and reached for the folded paper that Wadsworth offered on a small silver tray. He recognized the delicate scrawl of his grandmother’s hand and knew the contents before he even read the words.

  Alarmed by the look on Nick’s face, Sarah could not contain her curiosity. “Is something amiss?”

  Nick’s smile was tolerant at best as he refolded the note and tossed it onto the table. “ ‘Tis from my grandmother.” He explained and then turned to Wadsworth. “Is Ruby still waiting?” he asked.

  The butler nodded. “She’s in the kitchen. Cook gave her a glass of buttermilk while I brought you the message.”

  Nick rose from his chair, his jovial mood shattered. “Have Ruby tell my grandmother that I am already committed for the evening. I shall call upon her tomorrow at two as originally planned.” He turned toward Sarah. “Business matters demand my attention. But stay and finish your dessert. I’ve no doubt I shall see you on the morrow.”

  As the door closed behind her host and his butler, Sarah reached for the discarded note. Her eyes grew wide as she scanned the contents. Jumping from her seat with the paper still clutched in her fingers, she turned first one way and then the other in utter panic. Wadsworth returned and his brow lifted, but Sarah was too distressed to care that he had caught her reading the master’s correspondence.

  “Did he leave yet? Quick, tell him to wait, I can accompany him. I have some skills . . .”

  The butler calmly began to set the dishes onto a tray he carried. “I believe Mr. Beaumont has gone to his study to resume his correspondence.”

  Sarah jerked backward as if the words had been a physical blow. “But his grandmother is dying!” She offered the note in fingers that trembled.

  Wadsworth set several more dishes on the tray.

  “What can I do to help?” she pleaded. “Does Mrs. Beaumont live nearby? Has the doctor been summoned?”

  Wadsworth straightened and gave her an appraising look. He had been with the Beaumont family for most of his life. And much of his success was based on his unwavering loyalty and his ability to understand people. He took in Sarah’s pale features, the tremor in her voice.

  “It would be best, Miss Townsend if you were to return to your room. I’m sure that all will look brighter in the morning.”

  Sarah squared her shoulders and took a deep, calming breath. “Wadsworth,” she said quietly, “I am not a child to be protected from the tragedies of the world. I might be only ten and nine, but I have already tasted death. I have buried both of my parents. Now, you must trust me when I say that my presence will not be a nuisance. I possess some skills of healing and I wish to give assistance. So, will you help me or shall I leave and ask the first person on the road how to find the property of Mrs. Beaumont?”

  Wadsworth returned to stacking the dishes. “The master’s grandmother lives about two miles down the road. ‘Tis a grand white house with pecan trees in the front yard. But you’ll not find the master there tonight. He’ll be in his study attending to his business.”

  The note dropped from Sarah’s fingers as disbelief clashed with her confusion. “Mr. Beaumont has just received a letter saying his grandmother will not live out the night and you want me to believe that he has gone to his study to deal with business?” Her eyes narrowed in challenge. “Sir, the man who was kind enough to offer me shelter until my family could be contacted is not a man to sit idly by and wait death to claim a member of his family.”

  Wadsworth set down his tray and made his decision. “Miss Sarah . . .” He said her name gently “I have worked for Mr. Beaumont since before we came to this house, so you know my word is good. Trust me when I say that all is well with Mr. Beaumont’s grandmother.”

  Sarah shook her head and reached for the note, soothing it flat against the table. “But the letter says . . .”

  Wadsworth slowly picked up his tray. “Mr. Beaumont has received that note or one like it at least once a month for the past ten years.”

  Sarah flopped back down on her chair like a marionette with no strings. “Who would commit such a cruel act to say that a loved one was dying?” she shuttered. “Does his grandmother know of this horrible mischief?”

  For the briefest moment Wadsworth’s face sank into a sad smile. “Mrs. Beaumont is the culprit.”

  Sarah’s gasp echoed her disbelief. “Nick’s mother?”

  Wadsworth quickly shook his head. “Oh, no, miss, the master’s mother and father both passed on when he was just a little tyke.”

  “How horrible!”

  Wadsworth glanced toward the door that led to the hallway. “ ‘Twas no great loss, miss. The master’s parents had no time for him anyway. They were both killed in a carriage accident and that’s when the master went to live with Miss Agatha.”

  Sarah had no trouble picturing Nick a child, but when she tried to imagine her own childhood without the love and support of her father and stepmother, an aching void filled her chest. “Was she good to him?” she whispered, feeling the pain of Nick’s loss.

  The butler nodded enthusiastically. “The old lady loved him dearly. But Miss Agatha, well, she’s a tyrant of sorts and them being two cut from the same cloth, there was bound to be trouble. When the time came for the master to move out on his own, Miss Agatha, she wouldn’t hear of it. She tried holding the family business over his head to make him move back but, like I said, the master is just as stubborn. He took his half of Beaumont Shipping and has expanded it more than three times over.” Wadsworth looked at Sarah in wonder. “Do you know in all these years, I’ve never heard him complain that half of everything he makes goes directly to his grandmother. I think he’s pleased that he’s found a way to give her things without her realizing it.”

  “But the note . . . “ Sarah prompted.

  The smile faded completely from Wadsworth’s pale face. “Miss Agatha suffers greatly from old age and can no longer get about on her own
. The first time she sent a note, why, the young master dropped everything and rushed right over. There he finds his grandmother, fit as a fiddle and sitting up in bed. She was lonesome, she said, and felt poorly. The master, he didn’t say anything until it happened again about a week later. Now he just doesn’t go at all.”

  “He never sees her at all?”

  Wadsworth picked up his tray and turned toward the door. “The master sees his grandmother several times a week. In fact, she was here just this morning.”

  Sarah rubbed her temples in confusion. “But if that is true, then why would she send such a note?”

  Wadsworth pushed open the door. “Control,” he said quietly. “Miss Agatha just can’t give up the control.

  For several minutes, Sarah sat alone in the dining room trying to understand a woman who would go to such lengths. Her fingers smoothed over the delicate penmanship as she searched for her answers. You are making a mistake, Mrs. Agatha Beaumont, she whispered to the empty room. She remembered the story her father had once told her about a young shepherd boy tending his sheep. When the lad had grown lonely on his mountainside he had called wolf, and the townsfolk had rushed to his aid. But there had been no wolf and it hadn’t taken long before the villagers began to ignore the boy completely. Sarah shuddered, remembering the tragic ending to the tale.

  Quietly, she stood and smoothed her gown. On the morrow she would pay a visit to Mrs. Agatha Beaumont and tell her how distressing her notes were for Nick. Then again, she thought, what if the woman was truly ill? Filled with doubt and confusion, Sarah returned to her room.

  I don’t understand these people, she thought, sitting upon the soft mattress of her bed and pulling her knees up to rest her chin upon them. I need to be home. Tears swelled but she blinked them back. Samuel, she sighed as her throat grew tight, who hated you enough to forge your name on such a document? If only I had a way to let you know that I am safe. Silently, she rocked back and forth. I’ll never forgive myself for the anguish I’m causing you, dear brother.