All Smiles

by Stella Cameron

  He straightened his cuffs and checked the tasteful black pearl pin in his neck cloth. “Shouldn’t think so. There are ways to close a laceration that promote rapid healing—and stop bleeding. I know them. Come to me if you suffer increased discomfort.”

  “Thank you. I should like to return to my duties. I am a calm woman but really, there is an amazing amount to accomplish. We cannot afford for the schedule to be delayed for any reason.”

  “Return to your duties,” he said. “Good afternoon.”

  Meg waited and watched until Verbeux’s straight back went from sight. Gaining permission to carry on lifted Meg’s spirits. She so enjoyed the dance lessons and the voice lessons. Princess Désirée was truly quite talented.

  Before Meg could leave the music room, Sibyl stuck her head around the door and said, “Baggsy’s here, Meggie. I heard Rench let him in not a second ago. He is come to see us, of course.”

  “Reverend Baggs,” Meg muttered. “Why is he coming to Town so frequently?”

  “I don’t know. Let’s go to the ballroom quickly. It would be more comfortable if we didn’t have to be alone with him.”

  Meg was grateful Sibyl apparently knew nothing about the accident yet. “I think I should prefer our business kept from anyone else,” Meg said.

  Sibyl shook her head and motioned Meg to follow her. “Please, he makes me shiver—the more so if he can concentrate on me. For me, will you come?”

  “Of course,” Meg said, getting to her feet. She was immediately forced to trot in order to keep up with her sister’s pace.

  In the little ballroom, Princess Désirée went through steps while Miss Ash watched. “You see,” Sibyl whispered. “Reverend Baggs will be intimidated by so much activity—and by strangers. He won’t stay very long.”

  “Perhaps not,” Meg said, unconvinced.

  “Head up,” Ash ordered, and moved in to apply a sharp rap on top of the Princess’s head with a long, thin cane. “Up, up, up,” she ordered, as if training a puppy.

  Princess Désirée made a turn toward Meg and Sibyl, crossed her eyes and gave an evil grin. Meg struggled not to laugh.

  Rench came into the ballroom and announced, “There’s a Reverend Baggs here to see you, Miss Smiles—both of the Misses Smiles. He’s already on his way up. Could take some time for him to arrive. The Reverend does not appear in strapping good health. If you don’t want to see him, I’ll stop him and turn him around.”

  “Oh, no!” Sibyl said. “That would be disrespectful. Please have him come to us.”

  “I think he’s already come,” Rench said.

  Reverend Baggs scuffed in with the short steps Meg remembered well. Garbed in a black cassock and priestly collar and holding his wide brimmed black hat before him, he was as rotund and rosy as ever—and as out of breath.

  “Meg and Sibyl,” he said, bobbing as he bowed his head in their direction. “At last I find you. I called at Number Seven and was sent here. After all, your dear father was so good to me, and your dear mother, and it is my duty to make sure you are safe and have what you need.”

  Meg and Sibyl looked at each other. Their papa had died several years previously, and their mother some years before that. Meg had no difficulty recalling Papa’s kindness to Baggsy, but this was the first time there had been a mention of his concern for his benefactor’s children.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” he said in his plummy voice. “If I have been so concerned for you, why have I taken so long to come to you? My fault entirely, and I am ashamed. My defense is that I am not so skilled at running a parish as your dear father was and it has taken me some time to feel free to leave Puckly Hinton.”

  “You were in London some weeks ago,” Meg said. “Or so our cousin William tells us.”

  Reverend Baggs shook his head mournfully. “I was indeed. And I tried to contact you but had no success. William will have told you I was a witness at that terrible thing that happened near the Burlington Arcade. The coincidence of my also being there struck me immobile. I could do nothing, and then you were surrounded by people and I thought it best to depart and tell William as soon as possible.”

  “Yes,” Meg said. She would not thank him. “Well, we are pleased to see you, I’m sure, but I hope you won’t think us rude if we return to our duties. I don’t think our employer would appreciate our spending time on personal visits. When you return to Puckly Hinton, please give William our regards and tell him we are quite well and happy.”

  “Your cousin is a most generous and pious man,” said Reverend Baggs. “His kindness to a simple man of God will not go unnoticed. He is—” he dropped his voice “—he is deeply upset by this endeavor.” He eyed the Princess and Miss Ash significantly. They had both withdrawn a discreet distance that nevertheless allowed them to watch and to overhear with ease.

  “I certainly don’t care—”

  “Meg and I are touched by Cousin William’s concern for us.” Sibyl interrupted Meg. “He has nothing to worry about. Our position here is most agreeable, thank you.”

  The Reverend pushed his mouth out in a thoughtful pout and frowned. “This is awkward, young ladies, but I have also come to ask for your help. I will be spending some time here in London on church business. There is never enough—er—money for these things. Forgive me for mentioning such a matter, but I have nowhere to stay while I’m here and I had hoped you might help me locate inexpensive lodgings. Do you think there might be room for me at Number Seven?”

  Horrified, Meg searched for the best way to discourage the man.

  Sibyl swung her skirts and fiddled with the lace at one cuff.

  Meg saw Miss Ash move. She paced to the piano and glared at Meg.

  “You should go to Lady Hester,” Sibyl blurted. “Latimer More is an agreeable fellow, and he has a second bedroom in his flat. He might appreciate some financial assistance. Yes, do go to Lady Hester.”

  “I shall,” Reverend Baggs announced in excited tones. “I certainly shall. At once. How perfectly delightful to be so close to two dear girls who are so near my heart. Especially in this unkind city. Thank you, thank you.” Bowing repeatedly, he backed to the door, turned and fled.

  “Oh, Sibyl,” Meg moaned, “you are so good. You cannot bear to think of someone being in need. But to suggest that man seek lodgings at Number Seven? Lady Hester will not turn him away, and neither will Latimer. They will both think they should take him in for us.”

  Sibyl crossed her arms tightly, and her expression became unexpectedly rebellious. “We were not brought up to be disrespectful to the clergy. How could we ignore him when he told us he had nowhere to stay?”

  “By opening your tiresome mouth and telling him you couldn’t help him. That’s how.” Ash’s words fell like hard stones into the quiet air in the small blue and silver ballroom.

  “Miss Ash,” Princess Désirée said, her lips white, “how can you be so rude?”

  “How? I’ll tell you how,” Miss Ash retorted. She paced, or rather strode in circles around the piano. “I am beside myself. Of all the hen-witted, chuckleheaded suggestions to make. What were you thinking of, Miss Smiles? Or—forgive me, I spoke in haste—of course you weren’t thinking at all, were you? Women should know their place and remain in that place. Subservience is admirable in the female. Completely appropriate. But to be crack-brained enough to send another annoyance to Number Seven? Well! I am beside myself.”

  Miss Ash was quiet for a moment, although she breathed loudly. Her long steps revealed that her stockings were rolled down into unbecoming rings that resembled sausages just above her ankles. The exposed limbs were exceptionally thin, white and sinuous—and hairy. Fury emanated from her.

  Sibyl moved close to Meg and slipped a hand in hers, and discovered the bandage. “Meg?” she whispered.

  “It’s nothing. Just a little scratch. M. Verbeux wrapped it. He was too conscientious. I’ll tell you about it later.”

  “Slow top,” Ash all but shouted, “you have probably man
aged to waste a great deal of time, of an important person’s time.” She stopped and seemed to shrug, to shake herself. She turned her bright little eyes on Meg and Sibyl, and her pale face gradually became deep red.

  “You have no right to speak to Sibyl like that,” Meg said. “What she says is no affair of yours.”

  “It’s all right, Meggie.”

  “No, Sibyl, it isn’t. It is all outrageous.” She turned to the dance teacher and said, “Why would you care about who does or doesn’t lodge at Number Seven?”

  “I should think,” the Princess said, sounding calmer, “that Miss Ash has some explaining to do.”

  Ash spread her long, thin arms and said, “Oh, dear, I don’t know what came over me. Oh, really, I’m sorry, but I am already protective of you. That man wants to take advantage of your kindness, and you have let him do so.”

  “I still don’t see why you would speak so to Sibyl.”

  “No, you wouldn’t. You are too…You have led a sheltered life and may too easily be victimized. The sight of that happening made me forget myself. There, I have been honest, I can’t do more.”

  The Princess didn’t even try to conceal her fascination with the proceedings.

  Sibyl, on the other hand, was visibly shaken.

  Abandoning her anger, Meg said, “Yes, well, we should not speak further of this. Continue Princess Désirée’s dance lesson, if you please. I am also hoping to hear her sing today.”

  Ash sniffed and raised her chin. She waved her pupil forward, using the cane to indicate where she wanted her to stand.

  “Meg,” Sibyl whispered hoarsely. “Miss Ash is really strange, don’t you think? She became someone quite different. So angry, and not at all as one would expect a gentlewoman to be angry. Such expressions. I shall be some time recovering.”

  “She is strange,” Meg agreed. “But she is also quite elderly, I believe. Perhaps she has painful joints that make her irritable. We should put this from our minds and carry on. Play for them, Sibyl. Please?”

  Sibyl faltered for only an instant before going to the piano and sitting on the bench. She proceeded to play while Miss Ash demonstrated several steps from a cotillion. The woman was wooden—stiff. She placed her feet deliberately and made no attempt to allow the music to flow through her limbs and body, showed no sign of being moved by the music.

  Meg was unaware of Jean-Marc’s arrival until he stood at her shoulder. He bent to say, “I thought you were instructed to rest today.”

  “M. Verbeux told me I could return to my duties. The wound bled considerably, but it is shallow and wide, not deep.”

  “You realize we cannot ignore what happened?”

  She had managed to set aside the incident. “I cannot imagine how I could discover anything about the origin of that shaving blade. No one would confess its ownership. And I’m sure it was accidentally placed in my pouch.”

  “Are you?”

  “I think I shall take a seat to watch,” she told him, walking toward one of the small divans covered with blue damask that were placed about the ballroom. She sat and rested her injured hand atop the other forearm. It hardly hurt at all now.

  “You are doing well, Désirée,” the Count said, and patted his sister’s arm as he passed her and joined Meg on the divan. “Let us see how you are mastering the waltz. You mentioned you liked it. Miss Ash, the waltz, if you please.”

  Ash’s frown conveyed her disapproval, but she took up a position with Princess Désirée.

  Sibyl looked up and smiled. She changed her music and scanned the first sheet. Meg didn’t recognize the sprightly piece. The swelling, swooping notes made Meg smile, too. She swayed, and did her best not to react to the Count, so close beside her.

  Neither his behavior nor her reaction to him would do. Each time she saw him she recalled again in great detail their first time alone. On the first day of their acquaintance. Her stomach burned at the memory. She had behaved like a common girl with no respect for her body or her soul. And the small brushes that continued to occur, the brief interludes of intimacy, were simply wrong. Yet she could not force herself to stop thinking about them, longing for more time alone with him.

  “Not a spirited performance,” he said into her ear while he watched his sister and Miss Ash. “I do believe Désirée does love music. And she moves well. Dash it all, though, I do admire Ash’s ability to take the man’s part in the dance. She does it so naturally. But then, she is not exactly a feminine creature.”

  Meg did not comment.

  “I say, Désirée,” he said loudly. “You’re going to be a natural, cherie. But I’d like you to study how you should carry yourself. Miss Smiles and I will demonstrate for you. Watch carefully.”

  “No,” Meg murmured. Her flesh prickled. “I cannot.”

  “But you can. Have you forgotten how you practiced alone in my study?”

  She closed her eyes. “How could I forget?”

  “Good. Very good. Now you and I shall practice together.” He raised his voice when he said, “Sibyl, I think the Princess will learn more from watching a slightly slower, more graceful waltz. What do you think?”

  “I agree,” Meg said at once.

  “So do I,” Sibyl said.

  “Of course she does,” Miss Ash snapped, without any attempt to conceal her annoyance. “She agrees with anything any man tells her.”

  Jean-Marc chuckled a little. He got up, bowed to Meg and offered her his hand. She took a breath, placed her left hand on his forearm and let him lead her onto the floor.

  With the subtlest of motions, he swung her to face him.

  His smile slowly disappeared.

  Sibyl played a beautiful waltz, a slower, much smoother piece.

  Meg felt light-headed. Everything but Jean-Marc’s face blurred.

  He inclined his head and placed his right hand lightly at her waist. She settled her left hand on his arm.

  The music swirled over and through Meg.

  Jean-Marc decided he would like to hold this moment, to cling to this moment. He took her right hand in his left and resisted the urge to pull her closer.

  He moved with her, firmly and smoothly—and she was light and responsive. “Smile,” he said, but she didn’t smile. “Why so serious?”

  They revolved again. Her lissome body followed his direction, but then, he’d known it would. “Meg, I asked why you are so serious.”

  Those great golden eyes grew moist. “Perhaps I am serious because you are serious.” She turned her face aside, and her jaw cast a faint shadow on her soft neck.

  “I am not serious,” he told her, although he didn’t feel disposed to smile, either. “How is it that you have not been whisked away by some fine man, Meg? Surely any number have asked for your hand.”

  She looked at him through her dark lashes, and he felt foolish. He sounded like a moonstruck boy pressing a girl for words that would reassure him she had no other attachments.

  “I have never been asked for my hand,” she told him. “There has never been an opportunity for me to form such relationships. La, but I do not care.”

  He rather thought she did, and the idea pleased him, although he wasn’t sure why. Meg was fresh, a sensuous creature who might almost have dew on her skin. He hummed, “One, two, three, one, two, three,” under his breath and gave himself to the rhythm. At least this was the perfect opportunity for him to hold her without arousing suspicion.

  “When you smile you are at once very young,” she said, “and carefree.”

  “You don’t say.”

  “I most certainly do say. One might mistake you for a sweet-tempered man.” Then she did smile, and with high glee.

  Jean-Marc turned her about and took advantage of a hidden moment to give her waist a little poke.

  “Oh,” she said, and her eyes glittered. “You are sly, My Lord. Have a care, for I have been known to be underhanded myself—in innocent ways, of course.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Then I must dare you to
be underhanded with me, Miss Smiles. The thought intrigues me. Did you know how charmingly your breasts rise when you breathe deeply?”

  The manner in which her mouth fell open was most pleasing. She said, “My Lord, what has come over you?”

  “You have come over me.” And he saw storm clouds ahead, clouds that would follow the sun of whatever they could share with each other before they must go their separate ways—unless he could convince her to become part of his life on the only terms available to them. So far she had been shocked by that suggestion.

  Vaguely, he was aware of Sibyl finishing one piece of music and starting another. Equally vaguely he realized they had already danced too long for the exercise to be only for the purpose of demonstration. To hell with that.

  “There is a trembling about you, something so vulnerable and new.”

  She looked downward and said, “I am not new anymore.”

  He spread the fingers of his right hand wide at her side and stroked her ribs with his thumb. And he really did feel her tremble. “You are naive,” he said. “You think I stole your virginity, don’t you?”

  “Don’t!” She gripped his hand tighter. “Please don’t mention such things.”

  “I will say one thing more and then I’ll follow your wishes. Your virginity is intact. You should have trusted me. I told you there are ways to find great pleasure without my actually breaching your maidenhead.”

  She stumbled, and he lifted her almost off her feet, then set her down in time to change their course and fly around the floor, ballooning her skirts behind her, until she was breathless and gasping.

  “I shall give you no mercy until you say you believe me.”

  “I believe you,” she said. The color in her cheeks was delicious.

  “Meg Smiles, you torment me.” They danced now as if they’d been partnering each other for years. “Do you know this? That I no longer sleep well at night because I find myself reaching out to feel you. Only you are not there, and then I am entirely awake, my heart pounding, my body wet with sweat. It is like a dream that is snatched away and replaced with a nightmare.”

  Around and around they danced. He would so like to embrace her, to wrap her against him while they gave themselves to the music.