Bewitching Kissing

by Rainy Kirkland

  Nick shaded his eyes with his palm. “That would be the young Richardson boy. I think his name is Jimmy. Why, did he knock you down?”

  Sarah quickly shook her head and made a vow to seek out Jimmy’s mother as soon as circumstances allowed. “We had a discussion on fashion,” she said carefully as Nick helped her into the carriage. “He didn’t seem to appreciate my new dress.”

  Nick’s eyes skimmed over the severe neckline that almost reached her chin, then down the tight-fitted sleeves that hid her slender arms. “Smart lad,” he muttered before joining her and taking the reins. “Now, let’s get you home so you can rest.”

  Sarah shifted on the smooth leather seat, liking the gentle sway of the carriage. “Why do you think he said that?”

  Nick cleared his throat, stalling for time. “Well . . . it is a bit unusual,” he replied tactfully.

  She let her fingers trace over the soft black wool of her sleeve. “But Charlotte did an outstanding job. These seams are the finest I have ever seen. And the quality of the cloth is superb. This gown will last a lifetime.”

  Nick rolled his eyes. “Thank heaven for that.”

  Sarah’s forehead wrinkled with thought. “I take it that Jimmy comes from rather poor circumstances. He probably has never seen a gown as fine as this before.”

  “That’s it exactly.” Nick pounced on her answer and gave her a melting smile. “I would bet on the fact that for James Richardson, the style of your gown was a definitely a first.”

  Sarah continued to frown. “I don’t think betting is appropriate under the circumstances.”

  Nick returned her stare. “What circumstances?”

  “Don’t you think 'tis scandalous for a child to bet?”

  Nick’s confusion was not totally complete. “What are you talking about?”

  Folding her hands in her lap and looking straight ahead, her words were stiff. “I just don’t think it’s appropriate for an adult to bet with a child.”

  “Who’s betting with children?”

  Sarah gave him a long, pointed stare.

  Nick thought for a moment before the light finally dawned. “Angel, I am not going to bet with Jimmy. It was just a figure of speech. Besides,” he chuckled, “from what I hear, Jimmy would probably beat me.”

  “That’s not funny!” she gasped.

  Nick shook his head sadly. “No, it’s not.”

  For several minutes the carriage rolled in silence, and Nick wondered how things with Sarah always managed to become so confusing. “I’m sorry I didn’t introduce you to Sylvia,” he said suddenly. “But she never stays long enough in one place to have decent conversation.”

  “That poor woman.” Sarah shook her head. “I must admit, it truly warmed my heart to see how politely you treated her. Most wouldn’t have been so kind.”

  Nick’s puzzled look returned. “Why would you say that Sylvia was poor?” he questioned, thinking of the elaborate albeit gaudy Myerson mansion.

  Sarah clenched her hands in her lap. “She is married to a man who cheats.” Her tone gave hint to the seriousness she placed on the mater. “And to make it worse,” she added in a hushed whisper, “it doesn’t seem to be a secret. Is that why she is forced to wear such clothing, as a warning of some type?”

  Nick speculated on the reaction Charlotte Rousseau would have to hear that one of her most costly gowns had been considered worse than sackcloth and ashes. “Sarah . . .” he began gently, not exactly sure what to say. “I’m sure that Sylvia chose the gown herself and, in fact, probably paid dearly for it.”

  “The town would make her pay to wear something like that?” Her voice was incredulous.

  “No, no.” Nick tried to follow the twisted reasoning of her mind but found it impossible. “I’m sure Sylvia didn’t pay for the gown herself; her husband George paid for it.”

  Sarah drew herself more erect on the seat. “Then he’s not a very kind man, for 'twas his vice that caused this mess in the first place.”

  “What vice?” Nick struggled to contain his frustration. “What mess?”

  “His gambling,” she whispered, looking over her shoulder to be sure none would hear her slander. “That, and the fact he cheats at cards.”

  Nick tried to decipher the code that would allow him to see the connection between George Myerson being a bad card cheat and the fact that his wife wore gowns that cost a fortune. “I definitely think that you have stood in the sun too long,” he said gently. “And as a master of the house, I prescribe a cool drink and a long nap when we get home.”

  Sarah felt herself grow warm from his tone and the way he used the word home, for in truth, when his grand house came into view, she began to feel as if she was returning home. “I thought I might visit your grandmother this afternoon.”

  Nick helped her out of the carriage, pleased to see that she no longer looked quite as pale. “I have business at the wharf later today. I shall escort you in my carriage and then retrieve you on my return.”

  “Thank you.” Sarah turned to go into the house, but his hand on her arm halted her progress.

  “If Gran starts to give you a difficult time, tell Luther to fetch you a carriage. I don’t want you walking home as you did yesterday.”

  “Why should Mrs. Beaumont be difficult? We got on wonderfully yesterday.”

  Nick wondered what she would do if he gathered her in his arms and suggested that they spend the afternoon together in bed. He knew she was attracted to him, even though she struggled to hide the fact, for he had only to smile at her and her cheeks turned the most delightful shade of pink. But the innocence that filled her eyes plagued him and he fought back his desires.

  “Yesterday . . .” he paused to clear the huskiness from his throat, “you saw Gran at her weakest. She’ll not appreciate that today. She’s a proud, tenacious lady, and it’s more than difficult for her to accept the fact that, at her age, she can’t keep up with the image of her youth.”

  Sarah smiled with the thought. “I imagine the young Mrs. Beaumont was quite a force to be reckoned with.”

  Nick reached around her and opened the front door. “She still is,” he chuckled softly. “She still is.”

  Chapter Nine

  A gentle tap sounded on the door, and Agatha looked up. “Go away,” she snapped. “I told you I didn’t want to be disturbed.”

  Sarah pushed open the door and peeked around. “I know. Luther was most emphatic, but I didn’t think you would mind if I came to speak with you.”

  “Well, you thought wrong. Now get out.”

  Pleased to hear that today the voice carried no pain, Sarah edged around the door and closed it behind her. She found Agatha sitting upright by the window. She wore a dress of black lace and had wrapped a shawl of white about her frail shoulders.

  “Are you stupid, girl, or just plain insolent?” Agatha shifted on her high-backed, wooden chair and wished yet again that she might move about without assistance. She watched Sarah’s continued approach, and her eyes narrowed. “So tell me . . .” she paused for effect. “Are you my grandson’s mistress yet, or do you just wish to be?”

  Sarah stopped dead, and wondered for the briefest instant if the old woman could read her mind. She felt the color flare in her cheeks and hoped the bracelet was safely tucked under the cuff of her sleeve. Why am I surprised? she thought. Evil thoughts are always found out. And although she had wished only for a moment that he might kiss her again, she knew she had no right to such a thought.

  “Do you love him?” Agatha challenged. “That handsome face and those dark eyes that can look straight into your soul.”

  Sarah remained silent. How could she admit to Nick’s grandmother what she had yet to admit to herself?

  “Cat got your tongue?” Agatha taunted. “Or have I hit on the truth?” She turned back toward the window. “Just leave the way you came in.”

  Sarah pulled her shoulders back. “I thought I explained yesterday that I was Mr. Beaumont’s housekeeper.”

/>   Agatha rolled her eyes. “Didn’t believe it then, don’t believe it now. So get out. I want to be alone.”

  Sarah had taken but a single step backward when Nick’s warning flashed through her mind. She’ll not appreciate that you saw her at her weakest . . . she’s a proud lady and can’t accept the fact she can no longer keep up with the image of her youth. Sarah watched Agatha stare stubbornly out the window. You’re lonely and too obstinate to admit it, she thought with sudden clarity. A warm feeling of compassion seeped into Sarah’s limbs, and she found herself moving to stand directly before Agatha.

  “But if I leave, then you’ll miss the treat I’ve brought for you.”

  Agatha’s eyes narrowed in her wrinkled face. “What is it?” she demanded, craning her neck to see what Sarah carried in her basket.

  “Then you’d like me to stay?”

  Agatha folded her thin arms across her flat chest. “I probably won’t like it anyway. But suit yourself.”

  Sarah pulled a stool close and suppressed a smile as she noted how Agatha’s eyes never left the basket.

  “If it’s cake, I shall hate it. They’re always too dry. You might just as well take it back where it came from.”

  Now Sarah did smile. “It is not a cake.”

  Agatha thumped the arm of her chair with her gnarled fist, then grimaced in pain. “Are you going to open that damned basket or sit there grinning all day? At the speed you’re going I shall be cold in my grave before you decide what to do.”

  Slowly, Sarah began to peel back the red-and-white checkered cloth. “Wadsworth and I were in the garden today and . . .”

  “It’s flowers, I knew it.” Agatha sagged back in her chair. “I hate flowers, they make me sneeze.”

  Sarah put on a patient expression. “No, ‘tis not flowers. But if you interrupt me again, I shall just conclude that you don’t want our gift. And if what Wadsworth tells me is correct, then that truly would be a shame.” Agatha turned her face toward the window, but Sarah only smiled and continued to peel back the cloth. The scent of fresh strawberries and chocolate floated from the basket, and Agatha’s head snapped back so fast Sarah almost laughed aloud.

  “You brought me strawberries?”

  Sarah reached into the basket and retrieved a crystal dish overflowing with bright red berries. She set the dish gently on Agatha’s lap and sat at Agatha’s feet. “Much of the first crop is not completely ripe yet, but Wadsworth and I found there were quite a few early bloomers,” she said softly.

  Grateful that today her fingers worked, her stomach carried no pain, and her teeth didn’t ache, Agatha plucked the plumpest red berry from the dish and bit into it. The juice from the fruit dripped down her chin and it was the most delicious thing she had tasted in months. Greedily, she shoved two more into her mouth before she looked back at Sarah.

  “I suppose you feel all proud of yourself now.” The words were sharp, but Sarah noted the way Agatha’s face filled with pleasure, and took no offense.

  “I can claim no credit. It was Wadsworth who remembered, so it is he who gets your praise. I’ll be sure to tell him how much you enjoyed his thoughtfulness.”

  Reluctantly, Agatha offered the dish to Sarah. “Do you want one?”

  Still smiling, Sarah shook her head. “I could be noble and say that they were all for you.” She gave Agatha a conspiratorial wink. “But the truth of the matter is that while we were gathering hem, I sampled more than my share.” She pressed a hand to her stomach and rolled her eyes toward the ceiling.

  Agatha cackled at Sarah’s memory, then cradling the dish lovingly on her lap, she settled back. “When I was a girl, I couldn’t wait for the first strawberry crop to come in. Even though it was never a large one and the berries later in the summer were bigger, there is something to be said for the first of the season.” She plucked another from the dish and slowly bit into it. “I remember one summer when my sister and I were still in the schoolroom. I sneaked down to the garden and ate every berry on the vine.”

  Sarah pressed her hand to her lips. “What happened?”

  Agatha shrugged and popped the rest of the berry into her mouth, savoring the sun-sweetened fruit. “My father was going to take a switch to me, but I was sick all over his shoes.” Agatha chuckled from the memory. “I spent nearly a week in my bed from that little escapade.”

  Fascinated, Sarah stared at Agatha in wonder. She understood her love for the succulent red berries, for she adored them herself. But it was beyond her comprehension that anyone would do something so blatant. She tried to picture Agatha as a bright young girl who thumbed her nose at the rules, but the image wouldn’t come.

  “You mentioned a sister,” Sarah prompted. “Does she live nearby?”

  A sad look covered Agatha’s face. “She died many years ago,” she said quietly. “Besides my husband, she was my dearest companion.”

  Sarah reached out and took one of Agatha’s sticky hands within her own. “I didn’t mean to make you sad.”

  Agatha shook her head. “Helena was very dear to me.” She smiled with the memory. “My father always used to say that I got all the energy and vinegar while Hallie got all the goodness.”

  Sarah pulled her stool closer. “What happened?”

  For a long moment Agatha stared out the window as images of her youth sprang painfully to mind, then she turned back to Sarah. “Hallie and my husband both died the same year of the fever.” She stared down at hands now twisted and knotted with age. “No one was surprised when Hallie took ill. She’d been sickly all her life, and it was only natural that I would return home to nurse her. I was her favorite, you see, and she’d always take her medicine for me.” For several minutes Agatha sat silent, lost within her memories. When she looked up, her eyes were lifeless. “Hallie died, and the day we put her in the ground, a part of me died, too. I thought nothing would ever hurt as much, but I was wrong.”

  Despite the warmth of the afternoon sun that poured through the window, Agatha shivered and pulled her shawl closer about her shoulders. “My husband, Roger, was the next to go.” Her voice caught. “Many said that it was my fault, that I was the one who carried the fever home to him from tending Hallie.”

  Sarah knelt beside her chair. “Surely you don’t believe you were responsible. God takes who He sees fit to take.” She set the crystal dish aside and gently placed both her hands over Agatha’s. “If we tried to reason the wisdom of his ways, then we’d all go mad, for it’s not for man to know.”

  Agatha gave Sarah a steady look. “I can accept that now, but there were times when I believed the whispers myself. It was too hard not to think that if I had stayed home with my family mayhap the fever would never have found Roger.” She shook her head, and the white lace cap that covered her hair bobbed from side to side. “Bu the worst of it was my son.”

  “Nick’s father?”

  Again Agatha nodded. “I was so eaten with grief from losing both my sister and husband that I ended up losing Rupert, too.”

  “He became ill?” Sarah’s voice held quiet compassion.

  A tear gathered and slowly trickled down Agatha’s wrinkled cheek. “He became hateful.” She wiped at her eyes with her knuckles. “I was so sure that something was going to happen to him, too, that I became overbearing. He was my only child, and I desperately wanted him to be perfect.” Her voice softened. “He would be the image of Roger and all that was good, and when he was grown, he’d take over the shipping business Roger had worked so hard to start. Rupert would be my living monument for the husband I had lost.”

  “That would be quite a challenge for a young boy.” Sarah watched the emotions etch themselves deeper on Agatha’s pale face.

  “I can see that now.” She heaved a weary sigh. “But not then. All I could see was that the harder I pushed, the weaker Rupert became. His backbone disappeared and he believed that the world owed him a living. When I finally realized what he was becoming and refused to give him more money, he left home. I never spo
ke with him again.”

  Sarah felt Agatha’s body stiffen, whether in regret or anger she did not know.

  “But Nick . . .” The smile retuned to Agatha’s thin lips. “The only thing of value Rupert and his trollop ever did during their entire worthless marriage was to produce that child. My poor Nicky,” Agatha sighed. “Those fools were blessed with a priceless gift from heaven, and both of them were too stupid to realize it.” Her cheeks flared with color. “All they could think about was their own selfish pleasures. Rupert drank until he couldn’t perform his husbandly duties anymore so she took to the streets. Then my perfect son drank even more to forget the fact that he had married a whore.” Agatha shuddered. “But the worst of it all was when they both drank to forget about Nicky – “

  “Surely, in their own way, they cared for their son,” Sarah interrupted.

  Agatha gave her a hard stare. “The only thing Rupert cared about was that the bottle never be empty.”

  “But the mother – “

  “Was a disgrace. The things those two put that child through would make your heart break. And even if it means that I lose my immortal soul, I’ll not say I’m sorry that they died.” Agatha struggled to control her anger, amazed that even after all this time, the thoughts of her son could still cause such pain. “When the constable came to tell me of the carriage accident that took them both, I wept. Not from sorrow as people thought. My tears were tears of joy, finally, little Nicky could begin to have a life. Nick had yet to see his sixth year.”

  Sarah felt her heart pound painfully for the child that once was and then stronger still for the man he had become. “He loves you very much,” she said quietly, her voice thick with emotion.

  Agatha drew herself erect. “We love each other,” she declared. “But he can be so obstinate when he does not get his own way.”

  “Is that why you send him notes that say you are dying?” Agatha had the grace to blush, and Sarah continued. “He is truly distressed when he received them. I know, I was there once.”