by Abby Gaines
Her exclamation of annoyance had the other two turning around.
“Don’t move, Miss Somerton.” Beaumont assessed the situation immediately. “Or you’ll tear that flounce. I’m sure you have better things to do today than mend it.”
Not that a gentleman should know the first thing about ladies’ dresses and the mending thereof. Still, he was right, so Serena waited in place. The narrow stretch of path where she was caught wouldn’t accommodate Marianne as well, so at least she’d succeeded in separating the lovebirds. Though she wasn’t particularly keen that it should cost her a dress.
With his gloved hands, Beaumont began carefully to peel the bramble away. “This thing is deucedly entangled,” he muttered.
Serena kept her head high, trying to ignore the fact that he was touching her skirts.
“So haughty, Miss Somerton,” he observed.
Startled, she dropped her chin. “I’m sorry. Haughtiness isn’t nice.”
“Nor is judging others,” he said. “Not to mention listening to gossip.”
She pressed her lips together.
“Will it come free?” Marianne called. “I could fetch some scissors from the house....”
“Another minute should see it through,” Beaumont replied. He returned to his work. “I saw Granville’s young daughter in these woods the other day,” he told Serena. “She was carrying a tray of meat. I wondered if she has a hideout around here.”
“Charlotte took some food to a tramp who’d come to the kitchen,” Serena admitted. “That was what made me think of a poacher when we heard you coming earlier. It was very foolish of her.”
“Very,” he agreed, shocked. “I know usually these men mean no harm, but a child with a misplaced sense of adventure could easily get hurt. I did enough wandering at that age to know what mischief she might find.”
Wonderful. Now Serena was being made to feel guilty by a hard-drinking, hard-living fortune hunter.
Her father would probably say a bit of being humbled would do her good, she realized ruefully.
Still, she was unable to resist defending Charlotte. And, indirectly, her own failure to tell Dominic. “Charlotte was acting out of compassion, rather than adventure.”
Beaumont snorted. “I can’t imagine Granville falling for that.” One last careful separation of thorn from cloth, and the bramble was detached. “There, you’re free.”
Serena gathered her skirt close, so it wouldn’t snag again on this narrow stretch. “Thank you.”
“On the other hand,” Beaumont mused, returning to their conversation, “Granville was probably the kind of upright youth who didn’t get into scrapes. Does he appreciate the risk his daughter took?”
It sounded almost as if he intended to educate Dominic himself. Surely not. But what if he did? A dozen possible courses of action filled Serena’s head. But only one was viable.
Honesty.
Never had she felt less like speaking the truth, boldly or otherwise. Let alone with love. “Mr. Beaumont, Mr. Granville doesn’t know about Charlotte’s escapade.” She glanced ahead at her friend. “Nor does Marianne.”
Beaumont looked so scandalized, Serena felt herself blushing to her roots, much like Marianne.
“Charlotte has been in some strife with her father lately,” she explained, feeling disloyal to both father and daughter. “I believe she’s put this behavior behind her, so punishing her will serve no purpose.”
“I’m relieved to learn that someone benefits from your Christian compassion,” he mocked. “I only hope she’s worthy of the second chance you so readily extend to her.” And not to him, was the implication.
Serena bit her lip. “Charlotte is a child.”
“We are all God’s children, Miss Somerton.” He sounded so smug, she laughed through her worry.
The smile he gave her had a twist that wasn’t entirely pleasant. “Very well, Miss Somerton, I’ll keep your secret.”
“I do plan to tell Mr. Granville myself, when the moment is right.” Even she thought that sounded feeble.
“I doubt Charlotte’s tramp stayed in the area, anyway,” Beaumont said. “There have been no signs of poachers in these woods. But I’ll have a hunt about, and I’ll ask my uncle’s gamekeeper to do the same.”
“Thank you,” Serena said.
“Miss Granville walks in the woods all the time.” He meant Marianne, not Charlotte, she realized. “Her well-being is my primary concern.”
“I would dearly love to believe that,” Serena said. Could he have been telling the truth, when he’d hinted that his dishonorable days were behind him? That he’d repented?
“Have faith,” he said, so lightly that she didn’t know what to believe.
“Serena,” Marianne called. “We really do need to hurry.”
Beaumont left them at the edge of the wood, to Serena’s relief and Marianne’s well-concealed regret.
“Knight to F6,” Marianne said, as they parted.
Beaumont lifted his hat. “Touché.”
“He’s such a nice man,” she said, as soon as they were alone.
“We don’t know him well,” Serena said.
“You said yourself he’s charming, the first day we met. And what could be more appealing than a man who listens in church and takes the message to heart?”
Serena made a noncommittal sound.
“You’re as much of a Doubting Thomas as Dominic is,” Marianne said. “Has he said something to you about Beaumont?”
“I know your brother worries about you,” Serena evaded.
“He doesn’t need to,” Marianne said. “I’m twenty-five years old, not a young girl on her come-out. I don’t for a moment think Mr. Beaumont is as pure as the driven snow, but I’m every bit as capable as Dominic of deciding who’s a fortune hunter and who’s not.”
“I hope you’re right,” Serena said, “and that Mr. Beaumont is entirely trustworthy.”
For her own sake, as well as Marianne’s, now that Beaumont held her secret.
* * *
The next day, Sunday, clouds rolled in to cover skies that had been uniformly blue. Then the rain pelted down, and plans to row the boat out on the lake after early morning church were abandoned.
“We need some indoor entertainment,” Marianne said. “Charades?”
The popular game met with nearly universal approval—Serena was fairly sure she heard a groan from Dominic—and occupied the better part of two hours. When that was finished, the ladies partook of their customary light luncheon. The men usually considered the meal unnecessary, but with the weather precluding everything else but billiards, which was already planned for later this afternoon, most of them ate something.
The discussion around the table centered on what should be the next entertainment. Various games were suggested and discarded.
“Hunt the Squirrel,” Mrs. Evans suggested, after another round of charades had been vetoed.
Two of the mamas expressed the opinion that the game was a bit fast, but their daughters jumped on the suggestion. Serena had played Hunt the Squirrel once before, with her mother’s permission, and thought it fun.
“Oh, let the young ones play,” Lady Mary’s father said. “We older people can always find a chessboard, or some other amusement.”
Marianne looked momentarily tempted by the prospect of a game of chess played with a present opponent. Then she said, “I’ll be the hunter first.”
Serena guessed she was eager to postpone rushing about the house for the sake of her skin. The rules of the game were simple: the hunter would count slowly to one hundred while everyone else—the squirrels—went to hide. Dominic decreed the hiding places must be restricted to the two lower floors.
The moment Marianne started counting, the others scattered in all directions. Mrs. Evans set off up the main staircase behind Dominic. Serena took the servants’ stairs at the western end of the house, planning to hide in the gallery, behind the Chinese screen procured by some long-dead Granville on
his travels.
When she got there, Mr. Trent had beaten her to it.
“Do join me, dear lady,” he urged. “There’s plenty of room for two.”
That was part of the fun of the game, several people squeezing into one hiding place, then trying not to give themselves away by laughing. Mr. Trent seemed a nice, amusing man, but Serena remembered Dominic’s reaction when Trent had sat next to her while Lady Mary played the pianoforte.
To be on the safe side, she said, “Thank you, but I have another idea.”
Marianne’s voice floated up from the hallway below. “Seventy-one, seventy-two...”
Serena hurried back through the gallery and out the other end. Bedchambers were out-of-bounds, but there was a closet adjacent to the servant stairs. She slipped into the small, windowless room used to store sheets and bedding, and pulled the door so it was still slightly open. Without a window, there’d be no light at all if she shut it.
The room smelled of lavender and camphor and something else used to preserve linens from moths. It also smelled, intriguingly, of Dominic. Serena would not have imagined that he had a distinctive scent, but his sheets must be stored in here, because she could smell a citrus-and-spice blend, and somehow associated the fragrance with him.
The sliver of light admitted by the door revealed dust motes floating in the air. Her hasty entry must have disturbed them, because now her nose was starting to tickle. Serena sniffed, pressed a finger beneath her nose. Just her luck that Marianne would be right this moment standing outside.
Then, drat it, she couldn’t contain her sneeze any longer. She screwed up her face in an attempt to make it as discreet as possible. “Ah-choo!”
That wasn’t so bad. No one could possibly—
“Bless you,” Dominic said, from the dark recesses.
Serena yelped.
“Tut, tut,” he murmured. “We’ll be discovered if you scream like that.”
She pressed a hand to her wildly beating heart. Her eyes raked the darkness, but couldn’t discern him. “Why didn’t you say you were here?” she whispered.
“I was about to, but then you started fidgeting in your efforts not to sneeze, and it was so entertaining—” she almost heard him shrug “—I suppose I forgot.”
“Extremely rude,” she muttered, aware that he’d just revealed he could see her, thanks no doubt to that narrow beam of light, and thus had the advantage.
“My apologies,” he said, with enough laughter to render it completely remorseless.
She heard a rustle. “Did you just bow?”
“I did. By way of apology.”
“Just how big is this closet?” she asked.
“If you’re asking is anyone else in here, no, I think it’s just us.”
She snickered. Then realized... “Perhaps I should leave, in case it’s not proper.”
“The door is open enough to meet the standards of any chaperone,” he pointed out. “And the whole rationale for games like Hunt the Squirrel is...”
“For men and ladies to have a socially acceptable way of spending time alone,” she agreed. They were talking in low voices now, loud enough to be heard by anyone outside. Marianne must still be hunting downstairs. “Even my papa has no objection to these games,” Serena admitted, “as long as they’re played during daylight hours.”
“So you don’t need to leave.” Dominic’s voice was deep, calm, sure. Somehow, it resonated inside her.
“I can’t see you,” Serena said.
“You already know what I look like.”
True, she had no trouble at all picturing his handsome face, his strong physique.
“Whereas I do have the pleasure of being able to see you,” he added.
There was a moment of frozen silence. Had he just said that to look at her was a pleasure? Serena licked her lips, and wished more than ever that she could see him.
“I apologize,” Dominic said, his voice strained. “I went beyond commonplace courtesy.”
“I don’t mind.” Who would prefer a commonplace courtesy, when the alternative was that she was a pleasure to behold?
Far later than she should, she remembered why they were embroiled in this house party, why they were playing Hunt the Squirrel.
She cleared her throat. “The charades were fun, weren’t they? Mrs. Evans seems very nice. As does Lady Mary.”
He muttered something that might have been agreement. She had no idea to what. That he liked one of those women? Both of them?
“Lady Mary is rather young,” Serena suggested.
“She’s twenty-one,” he said. “Like you.”
Did he mean twenty-one was too young, or that it wasn’t? In the ensuing silence, Serena thought of Marianne, who at twenty-five was dangerously close to old maid territory....
“Marianne and I encountered Mr. Beaumont on our walk yesterday,” she said.
Dominic’s hiss decided her against mentioning her suspicion that the rendezvous had been arranged.
“Did he behave himself?” Dominic asked.
“His manners were impeccable. If he’s acting,” Serena said, “he’s very good at it. He gives every impression of an attachment to Marianne.”
“That’s what fortune hunters do, Serena.”
She sighed. “I suppose. Did it occur to you that maybe he’s reformed his fortune-hunting ways, now that he’s Sir Charles’s heir?”
“He is heir to a small fortune,” Dominic said. “A man of his expensive habits will be interested in making it larger. Also, he’ll be hoping that a marriage would inspire me to look more favorably on parting with a piece of land my family acquired from his.”
“How could Mr. Beaumont hope to buy any of your land?” Serena leaned against the back wall. “Surely the estate is entailed?”
“Not all of it. Early last century, one of my forebears purchased a hundred acres from Ramsay’s forebear, including a pond that makes all the difference if you want to keep livestock.” Dominic’s voice shifted and eased, as if he, too, were leaning against a wall. “Ramsay has tried several times to buy the land back. I suspect Beaumont shares that objective.”
“What if your friend the Marquess of Severn was merely reporting hearsay?” she asked.
“Even if Severn’s knowledge of Beaumont is by reputation, those things are not usually formed out of thin air.” Dominic paused. “Don’t tell me his stories have fascinated you, too?”
“Of course not,” she said. “But I do believe people can change. I do believe we should grant them a second chance.”
“I share that belief. However, I believe such character reversals are not as common as idealists like yourself wish to think.”
“If only there were some way to know for sure,” she mused.
“There isn’t,” Dominic said flatly. “But I trust Severn. Which means I see no reason to believe that Beaumont’s piety and charm aren’t disguises intended to dupe my sister.” Serena heard him shift in the darkness. “I hold my sister in the greatest esteem—”
“You mean you love her,” she said, amused.
He pffed. “But I’m not blinded to the fact that her affliction renders her ineligible for a man-about-town such as Geoffrey Beaumont.”
Serena feared he was right. But she persisted, “Have you not heard of the attraction of opposites?”
Silence.
“I’ve heard of it,” he said, his voice clipped.
Four little words, but somehow they changed things. The air felt thick and heavy, as before a thunderstorm.
“Have you ever...” Serena began, then stopped. She couldn’t ask him that!
“Been a victim of such an attraction?” he asked roughly.
She huffed a little laugh. “Victim isn’t the word I would have chosen. But...yes.” Her heart quickened, in an anticipation her mind wouldn’t acknowledge.
“It seems...I have.” His voice had deepened. “Quite recently, in fact.”
She knew he meant her...and yet she couldn’t believe
it. Not when she’d irked him and provoked him and nagged him. And he’d done the same to her.
“What did you do about it?” she asked.
“My view of such an attraction,” he said, “is that it can go nowhere. An attraction, even if mutual, is not a sufficient basis on which to found a relationship.” His voice sounded closer...she could nearly make out his shape in the gloom. “Not when philosophical differences promise incompatibility.”
The only insurmountable philosophical difference she could think of was that he intended to marry for convenience. Which she’d implied, if not outright stated, she would never do.
“Added to which,” he said, “the very nature of an opposite attraction implies there would be differences, conflicts.”
“Some might say it would be dull to be always in agreement.”
“I wouldn’t find it dull,” he said firmly. “I would find it peaceful. The spark of difference that would be kindled with a woman who is my opposite would be most...disturbing.”
Serena had grown up in a home where disagreement was the norm, where healthy debate invigorated the participants. She would be entirely unsuited to the placid existence Dominic seemed to desire.
So why, now, did she take a half step in his direction? Yes, Dominic was the handsomest man she’d met. More importantly, he was a man of faith, loyal to the woman he’d loved, who protected his sister, who applauded his children when they gave quite simply the worst musical performance ever.
Dominic moved, too. He stepped forward, so she could see his face in the half-light: intent, serious, ardent. He reached for her, his hands cupping her elbows. Serena caught her breath.
“Most disturbing,” he murmured.
Then his mouth came down on hers.
Chapter Ten
Serena’s lips were soft, yielding beneath Dominic’s. Yet he kept a distance between them with his grip on her arms, as if that would negate the intimacy of the kiss. In the dim light, her pale cheeks, the sweep of her lashes, were beautiful mysteries to behold.
