His first inclination was to tell his father to go to hell and take his money with him, but Kit enjoyed his comforts too much. Besides, Daltrey wouldn’t believe his father had cut him off. And if Kit didn’t turn over some cash promptly at the end of each quarter, Daltrey would spread his lies far and wide.
Then again, it would be nice to have his own source of funds, independent from his family, so he wouldn’t have to answer to anyone else. But how could he make a lot of money, fast? The most common routes were gambling or mining, but Kit dismissed those options out of hand. They were too subject to chance and the whims of fate. That left only one solution—marriage to an heiress. He felt far more confident of achieving success in that arena. If he could stomach it.
Kit sighed. It wasn’t the way he had planned to choose a wife. He had hoped some day to find a woman of wit, beauty, and breeding who would be a good companion and a lover, someone he could share his life with. But it appeared it was not to be. Marrying an heiress was quite likely the only way he could survive.
Unfortunately, he had just grievously insulted his most likely prospect—Belle Sullivan. And she would no doubt denigrate him to her nouveau riche friends, leaving him with no marriage prospects whatsoever.
Kit sighed. An investment was still his first choice for solving his problems, but he might have to resort to marriage in the end.
There was nothing else for it—he would have to apologize.
At supper after their disastrous trip to the Garden of the Gods, the girls were all uncharacteristically silent, and Belle picked at her food with no appetite. She had no desire to recount the events of the day despite her mother’s eager probing, and it appeared Charisma and Grace felt the same way.
It was clear Mama knew something had gone wrong but couldn’t figure out what it was. Their father, Patrick, was equally baffled. “So, what’s the matter with you all, then?” he asked. “Usually, you’re all natterin’ on like a flock of magpies so a man can’t get a word in edgewise.”
“Nothing, Papa,” Belle murmured.
“The devil there isn’t. Why, I want to know why me girls are pulling such long faces this evening, and I want to know right now.” He turned a stern glance on their mother. “Bridey?”
Their mother winced. Though she’d been born Bridey and that name had been good enough for her until she moved to Colorado Springs, she now preferred to be called by her second name, thinking it sounded more elegant. “It’s Marie, dear,” she reminded her husband for the millionth time.
Patrick scowled. “It’s Bridey you were born, and Bridey you’ll be’til your dying day. And there’s no sense pretendin’ otherwise. Now, tell me what’s botherin’ me girls.”
On the defensive, Bridey protested, “I’m sure I don’t know. They won’t tell me. All I know is they had a perfectly lovely outing planned with some fine young gentlemen, but when they came home, they would do nothing but mope.”
“Fine young gentlemen, eh?” He speared Grace with a sharp glance. “Did they go beyond the line with ye?”
Poor Grace had been so subdued, she hadn’t broken a single thing all afternoon. “No, Papa,” she said quietly.
Belle could understand Grace’s silence. She didn’t want to tell her parents what had happened either—it was too humiliating.
When Papa turned his eye on her, Belle sighed. “They were perfect gentlemen,” she confirmed.
“Ha,” Charisma uttered, as if the exclamation had burst its way free without her consent.
Papa turned to Charisma then. “Well, I know you’ll give it to me plain with no bark on it, sweetheart. Tell me, how did the young men act ungentlemanly?”
Apparently, Charisma could hold it in no longer. “It wasn’t what they did, Papa, it was what they said.”
Their father’s face turned stony. “And what was it they said?”
Even Charisma lost some of her bravado under that steely stare. “They said . . . they said . . .” She didn’t seem to be able to get it out, until once more the words burst forth as if of their own volition. “They said Belle was plain, Grace was clumsy, and I—I was not charming.”
Somehow it didn’t sound as bad phrased that way, especially since Belle distinctly remembered Kit Stanhope using the word “homely” to describe her.
But her parents seemed suitably horrified anyway. Mama gasped and Papa slammed his silverware down on the table. “How dare they! They said this to yer faces?”
Apparently emboldened by their parents’ reaction, Charisma said, “Well, no. We overheard them.”
Papa seemed a little mollified, yet puzzled. “I don’t understand. If they thought so little of ye, why did they ask ye out in the first place?”
Belle and her sisters’ eyes all turned to Mama, silently accusing.
Patrick’s face turned even more stony. “Bridey, what have ye done?”
“Nothing,” she insisted defensively. “Is it a crime to want your daughters to do well in life?”
“What did ye do?” he persisted.
“Well, I might have encouraged the young men to ask them out . . .”
“Ha,” Charisma exclaimed again. “Papa, she paid them to invite us.”
Shocked silence reigned for a moment at the supper table, and all the hurt came flooding back. Belle’s eyes filled with tears, and she suspected her sisters’ did as well.
Papa surged to his feet, his voice implacable. “Bridey Marie, I’ll see you upstairs. Now.”
As her parents left the supper table, Grace turned to Charisma and whispered, “Did you have to say that?”
“Why shouldn’t I?” Charisma asked, unrepentant. “It was the truth, wasn’t it?”
They all turned silent as they heard Papa raging at Mama up in their room. Belle couldn’t make out exactly what he was saying, but she knew the gist of it. When they fought, which wasn’t often, they usually argued about Mama’s desire to join the ranks of society, whereas Papa had no patience with a desire to climb the societal ladder. And since Mama had just crossed one of Papa’s lines, there would be Sam Hill to pay.
“It’s not her fault,” Belle said.
“What?” Charisma exclaimed. Even Grace looked surprised at Belle’s assertion.
“Mama was just trying to do what she thought was best for us. “ Before Charisma could say anything else, Belle added, “Oh, I don’t agree with what she did either, but she was well-intentioned. She didn’t know how rude they would be.”
As Charisma and Grace digested that, Belle added bitterly, “Winthrop, Latham, and Stanhope are the ones to blame.” Especially Kit Stanhope who looked like such a paragon and acted like such a cad. The fool didn’t realize what he was losing—Belle would have made him a wonderful wife. “And I’m going to get revenge on the threesome for all of us,” she declared.
“Threesome?” Charisma said scornfully. “More like three scum.”
Liking the sound of that, Belle said, “Yes, the threescum. I’ll make them regret they were ever born.”
Grace’s mouth rounded in astonishment and Charisma looked intrigued. “Really?” her outspoken sister asked. “How?”
“I don’t know yet, but mark my words, they’ll rue the day they insulted the Sullivan sisters.”
The next day, Belle was still wracking her brain, trying to come up with a way to make Stanhope and the others pay, when she heard Kit was at the door wanting to see her.
In the back parlor, Belle turned to her sisters, wondering what to do. Papa had stormed off last night, vowing to sleep at the mine, and Mama had left earlier to do some shopping.
Belle’s first inclination was to have Kit Stanhope whipped from the door—she was sure Charisma would be happy to oblige—but curiosity overcame her anger, and she asked the housekeeper to show him into the front parlor in ten minutes. With Grace and Charisma in attendance, she would be adequately chaperoned.
Just as curious as Belle, her sisters agreed to sit in on the conversation. Seating them on either side of her to giv
e support, Belle said, “Be still, Grace, so you won’t break anything. And Charisma, I want you to keep your lip buttoned.”
Unfortunately, there was nothing Belle could do about her own looks, but she wanted to give him as little ammunition as possible for making disparaging remarks about her family.
When Charisma would have protested, Belle added, “He insulted me. I’ll handle it.”
Grace and Charisma nodded. Since Belle was the eldest, the other two usually followed her lead, especially since she came up with the best plans.
And with anger and righteous indignation to steel her spine, Belle felt completely and utterly capable of handling one measly remittance man. But when he was shown into the parlor, she realized she had forgotten how devastatingly handsome he was.
Kit Stanhope took her breath away with his sheer presence. His striking blue eyes, the clean lines of his high cheekbones, and above all, his soft, sensitive mouth made her want to melt in a puddle right then and there.
Shame washed through her at the thought. This man and his friends had hurt her and her sisters. He had to pay.
He nodded at Belle. “Miss Sullivan,” he said in his lovely British accent, then greeted her sisters. “Miss Charisma, Miss Grace.” Glancing uncertainly at Grace and Charisma, he said to Belle, “May I draw you aside for a moment? I have something . . . private I need to say.”
“No,” Belle said baldly, borrowing from Charisma’s repertoire. She wasn’t about to give up the support of her sisters. “Anything you have to say to me you can say in front of them.”
He nodded but remained standing since she hadn’t asked him to be seated. She didn’t plan to, either. Let him stand there and stew.
“I’ve come to apologize,” he said with a rueful smile.
That simple twist of his mouth made longing surge inside Belle, but she ruthlessly repressed it. It was absurd to be so affected by the sight of a man’s lips, especially one who had given her so much pain. She simply wouldn’t have it. “Oh?” she asked simply, giving him plenty of rope to hang himself.
“Yes, I”—he glanced sheepishly at her sisters—”I fear you all overheard a conversation not meant for your ears.”
“We didn’t eavesdrop,” Charisma exclaimed in protest. “Your voices carried clearly.”
Belle shot her a quelling glance, silently ordering her once more to keep her mouth shut, then turned a cold face to Kit. “Yes? Go on.”
“It is as I feared, then. You did overhear.” His eyes turned as soft as his mouth. “I do most humbly apologize. I know the others said some unflattering things about your sisters, and I fear I said something equally uncomplimentary about you, Miss Sullivan.”
“You said I was homely,” Belle blurted out before she thought, then cursed her own unruly tongue. She hadn’t meant to let him know how much it hurt. Her sisters moved a fraction closer to her, as if to give her support.
“Did I?” he murmured. “It was quite rude of me, wasn’t it?”
“You can say that again,” Charisma declared.
For once, Belle was thankful for Charisma’s bluntness. Kit’s soft-spoken words, gentlemanly demeanor, and that darned sense-stealing mouth of his were working powerfully on Belle’s resolve. She lifted her chin, unwilling to trust herself to say anything.
“In my defense, all I can say is that I was carried along by a sort of jovial camaraderie and I said things I shouldn’t. Things I didn’t mean.”
Belle didn’t believe a word of it. “If you didn’t mean it, why did you say it?”
He spread his hands helplessly. “It’s lowering to admit it, but I was trying to impress my companions, so I played along with them, hoping to earn their favor by agreeing with the topic under discussion.”
Unfortunately, that topic had been the shortcomings of the Sullivan sisters. But why did this man who seemingly had everything feel the need to impress such callow young men? “Then your friends have a poor idea of suitable conversation topics.”
Kit nodded and another rueful smile graced his lips, sending her heart racing. “I can’t argue with you there, though I wouldn’t call them friends.”
“Then what would you call them?”
“Er, potential business partners, perhaps?”
Ah, that explained the desire to impress them. She had heard Kit was a bit strapped for cash. “And when your . . . potential partners spread this all over town, how will you react then?”
From the sudden stiffening of her sisters, Belle realized that was the key question for them. They didn’t give a hoot anymore about George or Harold—just how word of this would get about town.
“I don’t think you need worry about that,” Kit assured them. “They understand it wouldn’t be the gentlemanly thing to do.”
Since when were George and Harold concerned about being gentlemen? But the answer was staring her right in the face—since Kit Stanhope had told them how to behave, no doubt.
Well, that was one thing in his favor, especially since she felt Charisma and Grace relax in relief beside her. “Thank you for that at least.” Even if no one else did, she knew where to bestow the credit.
But that didn’t mean she forgave him. And so she let him know by the haughty expression on her homely face.
Kit cocked his head and regarded her with a beseeching expression. “I wouldn’t have you angry at me for the world. What can I do to make it up to you?”
“Can you make me beautiful?” she asked dryly. And was satisfied at the surprise in his eyes.
He recovered quickly, though. She had to give him points for that. “But I’m sure you are beautiful—where it counts, inside.”
“Hogwash.” But it was a gallant try, even if he didn’t believe a word of it.
Charisma turned to her with an arrested expression. “That’s not a bad idea, you know.”
“What?”
“Why not use him to make you beautiful? If anyone can do it, he can.”
All three girls turned to regard him with speculative expressions, and Belle saw panic in his eyes before he quickly suppressed it.
“Oh, could you?” Grace asked, regarding him as if he were a miracle worker. “She really is beautiful on the inside, just like you said. She just needs a little help on the outside.”
Belle felt her face flame and hushed her sister, but waited eagerly for Kit’s reply nonetheless.
The British peer, refined product of hundreds of years of breeding, took Grace’s question seriously and regarded Belle with a critical eye. “Well, yes, I think it can be done,” he said slowly. Then, with more gallantry, he added, “It wouldn’t be all that difficult. But I’m afraid I haven’t the time to put into the project just now.”
By this time, Belle shrewdly guessed he really meant money. “I’ll pay you,” she blurted out. Inside her head, revenge scenarios played themselves out. If she were beautiful, she could ensnare the threescum in her web, then throw them aside like the scoundrels they were. That would serve them right.
But Kit Stanhope was one of those three. Could she use the very man in her revenge scheme that she planned to get revenge upon?
Delighted by the irony, she felt her mouth curve in a smile. Oh, yes, she definitely could.
And Belle had no doubt she could pull it off. She’d always been able to accomplish whatever she set her mind to—ask anyone in her family. It was just that her appearance had never been important to her before. But if it would get the revenge she sought, she’d primp and pose enough to please even Mama. And she might even be able to obtain an invitation to Mama’s coveted Founders’ Day Ball.
Besides, if Mama was so determined to marry her off, maybe an improved appearance would help attract a man Belle could love, not just one who pretended to like her for her father’s money. Yes, she definitely liked this idea.
Kit looked taken aback by her proposition, so Belle named a figure—a high one. She could easily afford it out of the monthly pin money she never spent. When Kit hesitated, Belle quickly doubl
ed it, knowing the success of her transformation would depend on this handsome Englishman. Not just to make her look presentable, but to get her into the parties and soirees necessary to put her plan into effect
“Of course, this is strictly a business proposition,” she added, lest he think she was interested in him personally. She had been, of course, but that was before. Now she wouldn’t have him on a bet. “Well?” she challenged.
He looked thoughtful. “What exactly would this entail?”
Belle thought about it for a moment. “I suppose you’d need to help me learn how to dress well, do something with my face and hair, squire me around to the snootiest parties . . . and make me irresistible to all men.”
She added the last airily as a jest, knowing it was impossible to wish for, and was surprised when his mouth quirked in response. Oh dear, the man had a sense of humor. He was going to be even harder to resist than she thought.
He smiled, a slow stretching of his lips that elevated his face from merely handsome to truly sublime. “Wouldn’t a woman be better for your purposes? She could also act as a chaperone, whereas with me. you would be constantly in need of one.”
He had a point, but now that Belle had the idea in her mind, she was loath to let it go. “I would prefer you.” Besides, he owed her. Then, realizing he might have reservations of a different kind, she added, “Of course, we would both need to be discreet. There’s no sense in others knowing of our agreement.” She certainly didn’t want anyone else knowing either.
“How long would this last?” he asked.
No doubt he wanted to ensure a period to their agreement. Well, then, why not ask for everything she wanted? “Just until the Founders’ Day Ball in July. If you escort me to the ball, our agreement will end then.” She held her breath, wondering how he would react to her audacity.
He thought for a moment, obviously still uncertain. “May I have a few days to think it over?”
Belle’s hopes fell—she had hoped to get started on her transformation right away. “I suppose so.”
He must have seen the disappointment in her expression. for he added, “My hesitation has nothing to do with you, Miss Sullivan. And if I agree, of course I will escort you to the ball. I just need to see how this will fit in with my other plans. I wouldn’t want to give you short shrift.”
Belle of the Ball Page 3
