Once Upon a Kiss (Book Club Belles Society)

by Jayne Fresina

  “If it is not convenient, I can return another day.”

  “No, no. You must come in. We are delighted to make your acquaintance, to be sure.” She seemed uncertain whether to curtsy or not, but settled for a lurching, backward series of bobs as he walked into the house after her. She circled him in the same awkward manner to close the front door and shut out the cold wind. “Such a pity my daughters are not in, Mr. Wainwright. They will be disappointed to miss your visit.”

  He hesitated and then muttered, “Will they?” He couldn’t imagine ever being missed. He’d been assured his absence was often more celebrated than his grim presence.

  “Dr. Penny and I have two daughters. Perhaps you have seen them about?” She beamed up at him, rather like a panting King Charles Spaniel might look at its master while waiting for a treat. Aha, so this was the doctor’s wife. He had not realized at first, for he expected a maid or housekeeper to answer the doorbell. Now he studied her features more closely and found traces of the daughters he’d briefly met. Her face maintained a frayed prettiness under soft brown ringlets and a lace cap. “You must have seen my daughters in the village,” she pressed eagerly.

  He stepped back, afraid she might put her hand on his arm, for she had raised it to wave her fingers in an odd gesture.

  “I do not know,” he replied when it became apparent that she was waiting for some response.

  “Surely you must have. They are always about.” She smiled brightly.

  “I have not been in the village long.” That was the safest answer, he decided, ever cautious.

  “I am told my eldest girl is the beauty of Hawcombe Prior—indeed, of the entire county—but she is not vain with it. She’s the sweetest of young ladies with a very gentle temperament. Every man who meets her quickly falls in love with Catherine, but she has not yet been struck by Cupid’s arrow.”

  “How fortunate for her. It sounds a grisly business.”

  Her smile wilted a little. “Here I am rattling on! What must you think of me? I know my husband will be vastly pleased to meet you. Do come this way.” Turning swiftly, she led him down a narrow passage. “I hope you are finding your way around the village, Mr. Wainwright. If there is anything you require, don’t hesitate to ask my husband. And now we have made the acquaintance, you must dine with us soon.”

  He merely looked at her. Or rather, at the edge of her lace cap. The last thing he intended was to become part of the Hawcombe Prior social circuit. Such as it was. Darius already felt stifled by the woman’s hints about her eldest daughter, subtle as a butcher’s cleaver.

  A soft sigh exhaled from his lips, but she didn’t appear to notice. Fortunately she did not seem to expect any reply, either. Not that he would have given her any if she did.

  He was shown into a warm study that overlooked the lane, and she introduced him to her husband, a sturdy fellow with surprisingly youthful blue eyes, made all the more startling in proximity to a full cloud of white hair. He leapt up from his chair as if he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t and then tried to shake hands while still holding a magnifying glass.

  “Good Lord,” he muttered. “Well, I was not expecting…oh, dear. What has she…what could be…?” His words petered out on a heavy sigh. He turned wary eyes to his wife who, apparently thinking Darius would not see, gave her husband an anxious, wobbling grimace and a shrug. When she caught their guest’s eye she turned her expression into a hasty, rather silly smile and hurried out. Darius concluded that if the doctor and his wife were at all accustomed to social visitors, they must be of an unwelcome variety. It was not difficult to guess the reason.

  “Dr. Penny, please forgive the intrusion.” He glanced at the man’s desk which was covered with dead, giant beetles. “I thought I should become acquainted with the principle residents of the village, since I’ve decided to remain at Midwitch Manor while I sort through my great-uncle’s papers and belongings. Perhaps I should have sent you a note first.”

  The doctor’s face relaxed a little. “I feared you had come on some other matter…but I am pleased to hear it is nothing of that sort for once.” He laughed uneasily and glanced at the door through which his wife had departed.

  Darius was about to speak of that “other matter,” when the doctor hurriedly continued. “We don’t often have visitors to the village, Mr. Wainwright. We must appear rusty, no doubt, in our manners.” He set down his magnifying glass and put on his spectacles, peering at Darius through them with an intense curiosity. “So you are staying at Midwitch, eh? The manor must be in a state of some disrepair. On the last occasions when I called upon Mr. Phineas Hawke, I noticed the rapidity with which the house crumbled just as he did. A carved acorn atop the newel post came clean away in my hand as I left the place. Very sad to see it fall into such disrepair. I hear the place was very grand at one time.”

  “Yes. There is much work to be done, inside and out.”

  “Do sit down, sir. A glass of port?”

  “No. Thank you.” Darius lowered his seat to the edge of a chair. Feeling watched suddenly, he swiveled around and encountered a large stuffed owl observing him sternly from its perch atop a tall bookcase.

  “It is pleasant indeed to see a new face about the village. Do you plan to stay long?”

  “No,” he replied sharply, turning again to face the doctor. “I do not care much for the country.”

  The other man looked hard at him for a moment, unblinking, just like his stuffed owl. “You are a man of business, I understand, and a bachelor.”

  “I am.”

  “It is unfortunate you do not mean to remain with us for long.” Dr. Penny managed a cautious smile. “All the single young ladies of the village will be disappointed.”

  “No doubt they will recover. I can hardly be their first disappointment, and I doubt I’ll be their last.”

  The doctor squinted, coughed, and cleared his throat loudly. “Yes. Well. If there is anything I might be able to do for you…although I don’t suppose a gentleman such as yourself is ever in need of—”

  “I believe you might be of some assistance to me, sir, in the disposal of an item I seem to have inherited with the property.”

  At this news the doctor sat up, eyes agleam. “Certainly. Phineas Hawke must have kept some books I could—”

  “Is it possible, Dr. Penny, that you recently misplaced a pig?”

  Surprise ruched and lifted the doctor’s brow. “A pig?”

  “I seem to have acquired one in my orchard, and I am informed his name is Sir Mortimer Grubbins. If he does belong to you, sir, I would happily return the fellow.”

  “But I have never kept pigs, Mr. Wainwright.” His thick eyebrows ruffled gently together into one center knot.

  “Not yours?” Apparently her thievery extended beyond fruit.

  “May I ask why you thought the animal might belong to…me?” Even as he finished his sentence, the doctor’s voice grew quieter and then his eyelids drifted downward in disheartened acceptance of the inevitable, like a man ascending the steps of the gallows. “Ah. Sir Mortimer, of course.” His head moved slowly from side to side and a lengthy, tremulous exhale blew out over his plump lower lip. “I daresay I can find someone to take the fellow off your hands. I’m sorry you were inconvenienced.”

  “I should not like to put the burden upon you, Doctor. Since the pig is not yours, it is not your responsibility to dispose of it.”

  “Worry not, Mr. Wainwright.” The man’s gaze drifted to the window and out into the lane. “I am accustomed to burdens of this nature. You may safely leave the matter to me and concern yourself no more about it. I see you are a busy man and must have plenty to fret over.”

  Darius had not planned for such a hasty resolution. He’d expected her father to require more proof of her mischief and a full account of her crimes, for there was more to it than the hiding of a pig, of course. The
re was the matter of her climbing his wall to trespass in his orchard and steal fruit. But the doctor disposed of his daughter’s misbehavior swiftly. No wonder she thought she could get away with so much.

  Well, that was that, then. He could politely take his leave of her father and turn his back upon the entire incident. No one would ever know about that kiss or anything preceding it. Miss Justina Penny made it plain she had no intention of telling anyone. Her warning looks to him that afternoon were proof enough of her wishes regarding the unfortunate matter.

  He could safely leave the place and never think of it again.

  If not for the nagging whispers of his conscience.

  Others might not know what he had done, but he would.

  As for Justina Penny, if what he heard of her behavior was true—and he had witnessed regrettable samples of it with his own eyes now on several separate occasions—she required a stronger hand on her reins. A less preoccupied and, apparently, indulgent hand than her father’s.

  Darius tapped his fingers on his knee. “It is no trouble, sir. I’m sure I can manage the creature myself.”

  Dr. Penny looked askance. “You?”

  The sound that followed that word out of the doctor’s mouth was very nearly a guffaw. Or would have been, had the man not hastily raised a handkerchief to his face. “You foresee a difficulty, Doctor?”

  “But surely, sir”—behind the round spectacles those bright blue eyes gleamed with wily amusement, just like his daughter’s—“a fine gentleman like yourself has no time for—”

  “I’m quite sure the keeping of a pig is not beyond me.”

  The doctor looked doubtful, a strand of ivory hair drifting to the shoulder of his coat. “I admire your gumption, sir. I have never known much success with beasts of the live variety.” He gestured at the moths and butterflies displayed on his walls. “My preference is to study them when they are dead and cannot study me in return.”

  A curious admission from a man of medicine, Darius mused, making a hasty note not to fall ill while he remained in the wilderness.

  “Wainwright,” the doctor muttered. “Wainwright. Why is that name familiar to me? Have we met before, sir?”

  “Not that we met, sir. But there was an incident once. In Bath.”

  “Bath?”

  “When you were there, Dr. Penny. Last year. With your daughters.”

  The creases slowly unfolded from the other man’s face. “Ah. Of course.” He shook his head. “The waistcoat. Oh, dear.”

  “Yes. Quite.” There was a great deal more than a stained waistcoat he might have brought to Dr. Penny’s attention, but he made the swift and irreversible decision to handle those “other matters” himself.

  ***

  The young ladies of the Book Society had temporarily lost interest in the fate of the Miss Bennets of Longbourn, setting their reading choice aside to question instead a certain Miss Justina Penny of Hawcombe Prior and its surrounding environs.

  “It was nothing. Entirely nothing,” she exclaimed with another grand sigh as she retrieved her crumpet from the prongs of a toasting fork and quickly slathered it with butter. “You are all making far too much out of it. You especially, Cathy! You are usually so sensible, and I am the one generally accused of making mountains out of molehills.”

  “I knew you were keeping something to yourself. I knew it!” Catherine turned to the other girls for support. “She’s been so very odd of late. Secretive and unnaturally quiet.”

  “Well, what is he like?” demanded Diana Makepiece, now the only one of the five who had not yet seen the stranger.

  “He has enormous ears,” Justina assured her, knowing that Diana was very particular about ears and thinking this the best way to discourage her curiosity. The sooner he was dismissed from their conversation the better.

  There followed an immediate chorus of protest from the others, however. “Oh Jussy, what a fib!”

  “I did not think his ears very out of proportion,” said Lucy. “But he is quite tall, and I’m sure a lot of him is on the…”—she faltered, her blue eyes growing misty—“larger side.”

  “He was on horseback, so how could you tell the man’s height?”

  “I can estimate! He must be close to seven feet.”

  Rebecca, less prone to exaggeration, allowed that he was “reasonably handsome.” As a young lady known for a frequently blunt, critical tongue when it came to the opposite gender, this was a generous concession for her.

  Only Catherine refused to give any opinion of his appearance. “I’m sure I didn’t dare raise my eyes to the fellow,” she said. “He was very forward in approaching us without a proper introduction, but I did not know what to look at when my sister spoke to him in that manner. What must he think of you, Jussy!”

  She snorted. “It cannot be any worse than what he thought of me before I spoke. The man has such a great opinion of himself, and such a low one of other folk, that nothing I might have said could please him. I’m certain he must live in a constant state of discontent with the world around him. I wonder why he bothers to get out of bed at all. You all heard him admit he is too grand for the harvest dance and will not descend from his lofty heights just to please a few ladies.”

  Rebecca replied thoughtfully, “It is unfortunate that he did not smile. He might look less fearsome then and much more handsome.”

  “He never smiles, because he has very bad teeth,” Justina blithely assured the others. “Many are misplaced. The spaces between the pegs that yet remain are so wide they could pick raisins from a Christmas Pudding through fence railings.”

  Perhaps this statement was a little extreme and not necessarily founded in fact, but really the man was insufferable and the sooner her friends realized it the better. There was no point encouraging any romantic daydreams about Mr. Wainwright, so she would save them the trouble and heartache, by putting them off as best she could.

  “How you do fib, Jussy.” Rebecca laughed. “There is nothing amiss with the man’s teeth. You simply took an instant dislike to the fellow, as you so often do.”

  “Me? That is an amusing statement, Becky, coming from the girl who has been known to chase unwanted gentlemen off her doorstep with a loaded blunderbuss.”

  “That happened only once,” Rebecca protested as the others laughed. “And it was a man who tried to sell me a miracle cure for freckles. I,” she raised her chin grandly, “took offense.”

  Justina chuckled along with the others, glad to divert the discussion away from her and Wainwright. Besides, her dislike of that man was not instant, but she could hardly let her sister be reminded of Bath—a place that held no happy memories for either of them. Catherine had failed in her mission to find a husband there and, making matters worse, had suffered that dreadful rash. Even now, any time she felt a slight itch, Cathy worried the mysterious affliction was about to descend upon her again. It must be hard, thought Justina, to possess such beauty, for with it came not only great expectations, but the terrible responsibility of maintaining it.

  How glad she was that such a burden would never be hers.

  Looking around at her friends, she considered herself the least pretty of all. Diana was elegant and stunning with her juxtaposition of ivory skin, raven hair, and green eyes. Lucy had her baby-soft, wheat-gold hair and a face of doll-like innocence—even if it was deceptive, she mused. Then there was Rebecca with her lush, thick, wavy hair, all the shades of autumn, and that warm laughter which, even when her lips were silent, was ever-present in her wide hazel eyes. But Justina did not pity herself. As she told them all, many times, she would be content in the background, observing their romantic trials and tribulations from a safe distance.

  “I rather think,” said Rebecca, “that you are afraid, Jussy.”

  “Afraid of what?”

  “That one day a gentleman might come along, sweep you out of yo
ur old boots, and make you fall in love with him. Then you might have to make an effort to be more ladylike and admit that you do believe in love and romance.”

  She glared at her crumpet. “A man to suit me does not exist.” How could she tell them that her ideal of the perfect man was Captain Sherringham? Her friends—especially Rebecca, his sister—would tease her without mercy.

  “But if you never marry you will die an old maid,” said Lucy. “That is a terrible way to go.”

  “Nonsense. A terrible way to go would be dragged under carriage wheels or burned to a crisp by lightning or fallen on by a moonstruck cow or being poisoned by deadly nightshade in one’s hot chocolate. Old maid is simply a title, Lucy. It is not a cause of death.”

  “But you will be alone and even more curmudgeonly than you are now.”

  She stared at Lucy, who had never before dared suggest she was in any way curmudgeonly. For a moment the sheer injustice stole her capacity for speech. But it soon returned. Head high, she declared, “I can think of nothing better. I shall grow warty and wizened, wear thick worsted stockings, and frighten all your children on All Hallow’s Eve.”

  Diana exclaimed solemnly, “But it is every young lady’s desire and duty to be well married. Otherwise you will remain a burden on your father and when he is gone, what will you do? Even a lady of only modest accomplishments and little beauty should try to find a husband.”

  “Indeed, I shan’t be a burden on anyone,” Justina exclaimed. “I’ll live with the gypsies if I have to. Don’t fret about plain, unaccomplished, curmudgeonly little me.”

  “Perhaps, one day, you will meet someone like Mr. Wickham,” Lucy suggested, “and he will charm you.”

  “Out of her petticoats and her coin,” added Rebecca with a wry grin.

  “I have no coin,” she snapped.

  “It would be typical, of course, for Jussy to lose her heart to a villain,” Diana stated. “She must always be contrary!”

  And Catherine offered gently, “Those so determined never to fall in love are always those who fall hardest.”