“What are you two doing in here?” Saskia asked, hands on hips, trying to sound severe, but knowing that her face had softened at the sight of her adored children. “I thought I asked you to pick the beans in the kitchen garden?”
“Oh, you did, Mama,” Josh said, “but you see…”
“We heard the front door, and of course Mr. Graham isn’t here today and…”
“And so we went to see who it was.”
“And?” Saskia was well used to her children speaking at the same time and finishing one another’s sentences.
“It’s a gentleman,” Amy said importantly.
“And he requires a room.”
“We said you would go and see him.”
“His name’s Mr. Beauchamp.”
“No, Josh, it was Mr. Beaumont.”
“Well anyway,” they finished together, “he’s waiting to see you. We showed him into the breakfast room, just as you said we should whenever someone calls.”
“Take the scones into the drawing room for me.” Saskia removed her apron and smoothed down her gown, grinning ruefully at its less than pristine state. “And the cream and jam too. Carefully!” she screamed after their swiftly retreating figures.
As she moved toward the breakfast room, Saskia was aware that she must look hot and flustered and that, as usual, long red curls were escaping from what was supposed to be an elegant chignon. She sighed, resigned to the fact that there was little she could do to improve her appearance in the short time available, and trusting to luck that this stranger had a forgiving nature.
She stepped into the breakfast room. The man was standing with his back to her, hands clasped behind it, staring at the view. Saskia paused, a little taken aback by what she saw. A young man, that much was obvious from his lean frame and upright stance. He was tall, too, and well dressed. Whatever could bring such a person to sleepy Swyre? She was instantly alert, ever mindful of her father’s increasingly artful attempts to undermine her.
Perhaps sensing her presence, he turned, and Saskia almost gasped aloud. She wasn’t normally given to gawping at gentlemen, but he was the most beautiful creature she’d ever beheld. As the stranger looked in her direction, a polite smile on his lips, Saskia suspected that her face must be even redder than before, her uncharacteristically salacious thoughts clear to see. She hastily dropped her eyes, only to be confronted by the strangely disconcerting sight of buckskin breeches fitting snugly against muscular thighs.
Recovering her poise, she offered the gentleman a brief curtsey and an economically professional smile. Her suspicions as to her father’s part in the appearance of this Adonis had strengthened, and she wasn’t about to let her guard down.
“Good afternoon, sir,” she managed to say evenly. “I am Mrs. Eden. How may I be of service to you?”
“Good afternoon to you, ma’am.” The gentleman made an elegant leg and offered up a smile as guarded as her own, seeming to appraise her without making it obvious. “My name is Beaumont. Business has brought me to the district, and I understand that lodgings are available in this dwelling.”
Saskia was taken aback by his beautiful manners and deep, gravelly voice. Once again it took an effort of will to recover her air of detached politeness.
“That’s perfectly correct, sir. However, I have only one chamber available at present, and as it’s the best in the house it is rather more expensive than usual.”
“And what price, pray, do you require for it, madam?”
Taking a deep breath, Saskia named a figure that was far higher than usual. If her father was trying to infiltrate the house, then she might as well profit from his interference. The gentleman raised a brow but didn’t immediately demur. Heartened by his response, Saskia boldly pushed ahead.
“I must also inform you, sir, that we don’t let our rooms by the day or even by the week. All of our residents stay with us for indeterminate periods and I couldn’t let the room go for a shorter time than one month.”
“I see.” Mr. Beaumont appeared to be considering the matter. “In that case, perhaps I could see the room before making a decision?”
“By all means. If you’d be good enough to step this way?”
Saskia led the gentleman up to the first floor and into the room in the middle of the front landing. It was the one which her aunt had shared with her husband for many years, but which she’d refused to step foot in since his death. To love someone so completely that you could no longer bear even to look upon the space you’d once shared…Saskia tried to imagine how glorious it must be to have experienced such a passion. Agony and ecstasy in equal measures, she suspected. Tiring, debilitating, exalting, and…well, and something else that she’d been wise enough to avoid.
Saskia reached for the door handle, but his fingers brushed against hers as he did the same thing, causing her to start violently.
“Allow me.” He smiled and stood back, allowing her to enter in front of him.
Saskia was unaccustomed to such elegant manners. She observed him as he looked about the exceedingly commodious chamber. A large amount of space was taken up by an enormous tester bed. There was also a dressing table, armoire, and escritoire, all of the finest quality. A large window, affording a spectacular view of the sea, dominated the front wall, and a comfortable settee occupied the alcove directly in front of it.
Saskia felt an overwhelming urge to talk the man into taking the room, regardless of his reasons for being here. As he looked about him, she crossed her fingers behind her back, silently pleading that he would find no fault with what he saw. If he took the room for one month then she would be able to pay the butcher’s account for the last quarter. He was one of the few local tradesmen who refused to be intimidated by her father, and was willing to extend them credit. Saskia was uncomfortably aware that they’d exploited his goodwill on more than one occasion. They’d be able to replace the lost hen, as well, and purchase more firewood, if only this man decided he liked what he saw.
Oh, please, please take the room!
“If a month is more than you require then there’s a reasonable inn in the village. Otherwise, in Burton Bradstock, there’s the rather more commodious Dove Inn.”
Now why in the name of heaven had she said that?
Mr. Beaumont gave up his perusal of a tapestry mounted on the wall behind the bed and turned at the sound of her voice, offering Saskia an engaging smile. “The room is quite satisfactory, Mrs. Eden, and I’d be delighted to be your guest for one month.”
Without waiting for an answer he delved into his pocket, produced a pile of notes and peeled off the correct amount, forcing it into her hand. “Now, about stabling for my horses?”
“I regret that none is available here, sir,” she said, disguising her relief at his decision by employing the same distantly polite voice which she had used throughout their exchange, “but there’s a reasonable establishment in the main street. Swyre is a small village. You can’t miss it.”
“Excellent, I — ”
The door flew open, and the twins burst in.
“Are you going to stay with us, Mr. Beaumont?”
“Indeed I am.”
“These are my children, Mr. Beaumont.” She smiled, in spite of the fact that she’d lost count of the number of times she’d warned them not to burst into guests’ rooms uninvited. “Joshua and Amy”
The twins made a bow and curtsey, respectively, and offered up identical lopsided grins for inspection.
“I’ve already had the pleasure of making their acquaintance,” Mr. Beaumont said, not appearing to take exception to their forwardness.
“We’re twins,” Josh informed him.
“Yes, so I observe.”
“We’re six — ”
“And this is Hoskins — ”
“Our dog — ”
“He can do tricks — ”
“Yes, he jumps through Josh’s hoop, and he can — ”
“Have you finished in the schoolroom, children?” Saskia
asked, striving to sound severe.
“Yes, thank goodness,” they replied in unison.
“All right then, what about those beans you were picking for cook?”
“Oh yes, we’d forgotten about that. Come on, Josh.”
Still full of chatter, the children left the room as abruptly as they had entered it.
“My apologies, Mr. Beaumont,” Saskia said, shaking her head after them. “They can be a little high spirited at times.”
“Not at all. They’re delightful.”
“I hope you’re still of that opinion at the end of a month.” She prepared to follow her children from the room. “Now then, sir, tea is about to be served in the drawing room and dinner is at six. We keep country hours.”
“I shall attend to my horses now and look forward to meeting the rest of your guests at dinner. Is there someone who could bring up my bags and unpack for me?”
“Of course,” Saskia said, wearily adding yet another task to an ever-increasing list.
When Felix entered the drawing room at Riverside House that evening, seven heads turned in his direction, and all conversation ceased as the occupants of the room eyed him with differing degrees of curiosity. After what seemed likes minutes, during which nobody moved or spoke, Mrs. Eden detached herself from the group.
“May I introduce you to my aunt, Mr. Beaumont?” she asked in the same polite, detached tone she’d employed earlier in the day.
“By all means.”
She turned in the direction of an older lady, who was seated beside the fire. “Mr. Beaumont, this is my aunt, Mrs. Rivers.”
“Your servant, madam.” Felix bowed to the lady, assessing her without making it apparent that he was doing so, wondering what part she played in her brother’s iniquitous business.
“Welcome to my house, Mr. Beaumont. I trust that you are perfectly comfortable?”
“Indeed, madam. Mrs. Eden seems to have thought of my every need.”
Felix offered her niece an engaging smile. He hoped to be rewarded with a lessening of her formally correct attitude, but could discern no softening in the rigid set of her features. His best tonnish smile had never failed him in the past, but with the calculating Mrs. Eden it appeared to have no effect.
Felix exchanged small talk with Mrs. Rivers for a few minutes, whilst covertly stealing glances at Mrs. Eden, attempting to fathom her. She was wearing an evening gown in pale blue batiste, which passed in this country drawing room for elegant and modern, especially when compared to the attire of the other ladies present; but Felix knew it was poor in quality, and several years out of date. He wondered if it was a deliberate ploy to avoid drawing attention to herself, much as her coolly detached attitude discouraged intimacy.
But why choose a gown that fitted her so ill? Just like the one which she had worn that afternoon, it was far too large for her exceptionally slim and unusually tall body, and the extraneous yards of fabric flapped uselessly about her as she moved. Whatever it was that she sought to disguise, in one respect she was failing spectacularly. Felix was uncomfortably aware that nothing could conceal her spectacular breasts, all the more impressive when contrasted to the slenderness of the rest of her person. They fought valiantly against the confines of the batiste, as though rebelling against the demure neckline of the gown. Predisposed as he was to dislike Mrs. Eden, Felix couldn’t prevent his eyes from falling upon her décolletage more frequently than politeness dictated.
The lady herself could hardly be described as beautiful. “Striking” or “unusual” suited her much better. She had a profusion of the same distinctive red hair her children had inherited. This evening it was piled on top of her head, tendrils falling in long waterfall curls about her face, but she lacked the combs, ribbons, and other fripperies which Felix was accustomed to seeing in the coiffures of tonnish ladies.
Mrs. Eden’s eyes were arguably her best feature. Sparkling emerald green, they lit up her face, enhancing the overall delicacy of her features and her air of tranquil composure. Her nose was a little too long and was covered with a dusting of freckles. Such a visible defect would have appalled any self-respecting society lady, but somehow complimented Mrs. Eden’s colouring, drawing attention to her translucent skin. Her lips were full and sumptuous, but would serve her much better if only she’d smile more.
Her demeanour engendered confidence in her ability to handle anything life threw in her path, and made a man feel at ease in her company. Felix was unable to put his finger on just what it was, but there was something about her mannerisms, about the quietly efficient way in which she moved unobtrusively about the room, which attracted him. It was almost a fragility, which somehow excited his protective instincts, but why that should be when he’d already seen for himself just how self-contained and organized she was, Felix couldn’t have said. What he did know was that he was seriously vexed at her for engaging his interest when he was determined to entertain only contempt for her. Instead, he found himself imagining how spectacular she’d look if dressed in a fashionable gown and if she would smile naturally, as he’d thus far only observed her do when addressing her children that afternoon.
Felix was snapped out of his reverie by the sound of her voice.
“May I introduce you to the rest of our guests, Mr. Beaumont?”
“Certainly you may.”
Felix followed her toward a tiny woman of indeterminate age. “Mr. Beaumont, this is Miss Willoughby.”
The little woman trilled in excitement when Felix bowed, but appeared a little alarmed by his size. She twittered, declared herself delighted, and fiddled distractedly with her shawls. A harmless creature, and nothing to do with the foul goings-on in the Barker family, if Felix was any judge.
“Miss Willoughby is an old acquaintance of my aunt’s, Mr. Beaumont, and is our longest-standing resident. She’s been with us ever since we opened our doors to guests.”
“And most comfortable you have made me, Saskia, dear,” Miss Willoughby said, earnestly.
A gentleman walked up to them.
“This is Captain Fanshaw, Mr. Beaumont. He is engaged upon writing a Seafarer’s Almanac.”
“Quite so.” Fanshaw shook Felix’s hand. “Been a seafaring man all my life, sir, and would advise you most strongly not to believe all the rot that’s been written upon the subject. Feel duty-bound to set the record straight, you see. No choice in the matter. Do you know the sea yourself, Beaumont?”
“I cannot claim any particular knowledge in that respect,” Felix said, even though it was a blatant lie. Felix took a keen interest in the family’s business. He turned his attention to the middle-aged couple whom Mrs. Eden was now waiting to introduce.
“This is Mr. and Mrs. Jenkins, who are spending the summer with us, Mr. Beaumont. Mrs. Jenkins has been indisposed, and her physician has recommended sea air.”
“Then I trust you’ll soon make a full recovery, Mrs. Jenkins,” Felix said, bowing once more.
“Oh, she’ll be fine,” her husband answered for her. “Just a little rest will see her restored in no time.”
Mrs. Jenkins didn’t appear capable of answering for herself, or of contradicting her domineering husband. Felix was glad of an excuse to turn away from them as he awaited an introduction to the final person in the room — the one who had attracted his attention almost as soon as he entered it.
“Mr. Beaumont, may I present Mr. Fothergill.”
Felix found his gaze focused upon a small, exceptionally thin man, whose head didn’t reach Felix’s shoulder. His coat was threadbare, his neckcloth slightly soiled, and he was wearing thin, ill-fitted trousers, rather than the more acceptable breeches which adorned the person of every other man in the room. His face bore the tell-tale signs of an imbiber, having broken blood vessels and unnaturally heightened colour. Felix noticed, when he shook his proffered hand, that it was slightly unsteady. As if to lend truth to Felix’s suspicion, Fothergill helped himself to his second glass of sherry in ten minutes.
“Mr. Fothergill is a school master.” Mrs. Eden didn’t notice, or perhaps chose to ignore his rudeness in making free with her aunt’s sherry. “He currently has the task of teaching my children.”
“And they would learn well enough, if only they were better disciplined.” Fothergill stood far closer to Mrs. Eden than politeness dictated, an air of propriety about his action. “‘Spare the rod and spoil the child’ was the motto in my last school, and I see nothing wrong with that.”
The lady herself frowned fleetingly at his forthright statement but made no attempt to contradict him. She did however step slightly away from him.
Fothergill clasped his lapels, his stance oozing confidence. He clearly believed that an opinion expressed upon a subject he felt well-qualified to expound upon would pass unchallenged. It was most annoying, but Felix found himself wanting to defend Mrs. Eden and her delightful twins against this pompous oaf, and proceeded to do just that.
“Really, Fothergill? Is not such an attitude merely an excuse for poor teaching?”
Felix could have sworn that, just for a second, the ghost of a smile graced Mrs. Eden’s lips, but when he looked again her features were arranged in a neutral expression and it was impossible for him to be sure.
“My dear sir, I do assure you, that’s not the case at all. Mrs. Eden has full confidence in my abilities and — ”
The announcement that dinner was served, by a butler who must have been at least seventy years old, brought this discourse to a timely end. Felix considered it to be just as well. He was here to discover more about Barker and his daughter, not to fall out with the guests in Riverside House on his very first evening.
Approaching Mrs. Rivers, Felix offered her his arm. “May I escort you in, madam?” he asked.
Wendy Soliman Page 4
