Formidable Lord Quentin (14 page)

Lady Anne took her cue and Quent’s free arm. He looked grim.
Bell didn’t think he seemed relieved, but at least he wasn’t casting daggers at
her.

“If you’ll excuse me, my ladies,” he bowed and walked away,
forcing the newcomer to drop her possessive grip or be dragged with him.

“Well, that was rude,” Lady Camilla said brightly, her smile
as flashing as her diamonds. And probably as false. Bell couldn’t quite tell.
“Quent and I haven’t seen each other in ages. I don’t remember him being quite
such a high stickler.”

“Oh, yes,” Bell purred, squeezing Abby’s arm so she unfroze
and joined in the joke. “As a tradesman, he must be all that’s proper to hold
his place in society. A Scots title is so meaningless in London, and a courtesy
one at that . . . well, you know how it is.” She shrugged.

“Lord Quentin is all that’s proper,” Abby agreed faintly,
not quite grasping the social pitfalls she straddled.

Bell loved her former protégée for her virtuous inability to
think badly of others. Abby deserved rescuing from any cat fight that Bell
instigated. “I think Syd is about to consume all the lovely delicacies your
cook has prepared to entice us. Why don’t you let me entertain Lady Camilla
while you wave your wand and perform the magic that keeps this enormous place
running?”

“Cook has heard of the French custom of serving small bits
prior to the meal and has been dying to try it. I wonder if I should tell him
to fix fewer, so our guests don’t ruin their appetites. Dinner should almost be
ready. Lady Camilla, a pleasure to meet you.” Abby bobbed a brief curtsy and
hurried away.

“The country sort, I suppose,” Camilla said dismissively of
the countess. Apparently assuming Bell’s position in society worthy of her
attention, she drawled, “I am so very tired of dowdy and practical. Is the rest
of society in Bath this time of year?”

“Bath is quite déclassé these days,” Bell said, donning her
most imposing dowager marchioness expression. She waved her fan languidly and
studied the magnificent hall with false ennui. “If Prinney is at Brighton, then
there might be a few parties there. It’s less than a day’s drive, but I’m quite
tired of society for now. Our small family gathering suits me.”

“Quent is part of your family?” the countess asked with
suspicion.

“Of course,” Bell said in feigned surprise. “I am a Hoyt,
after all,” she added with a dollop of hauteur. “He’s been no end of help to me
since Edward died. Really, I am quite astonished that he has never mentioned
you. You say you are an old family friend?”

The lady’s brilliant smile developed an edge. “Oh yes, we
practically grew up together. Our family estates were close. So were Quent and
I at one time. But his family was poor and rural, and my family preferred the
city, and we drifted apart, I suppose. You know how it is.”

Yes, Bell feared she did. Poor Quent, if he had fallen
victim to this avaricious witch. “He has quite a few extremely handsome
brothers. It must have been hard to choose between them back then, before they
were married.”

“That was long ago,” Lady Camilla said with a dismissive
gesture. “Back then, they had no hopes of inheriting the title or estate,
except for the brief period after the late marquess lost his first wife. Once
he re-married, even that hope was dashed. I assume you’re the one everyone
expected to produce the heir to the marquisate.”

Bell heard the shrew’s disdain of her childless state but
didn’t react to it. Edward had taken his chances and lost. Her failure had been
personally painful, but it was no longer of relevance. What mattered was the
implication behind the shrew’s comment. Apparently, once Camilla had realized
Quent’s family might no longer be in the line of succession, she had turned
elsewhere.

Bell fanned herself and discreetly watched Quent over the
top of the boned silk. He had his back to them, but she read the stiffness in
his shoulders. “Since Quentin never had a chance of taking the title, then you
are saying there was never really anything between the two of you.”

“I didn’t say that,” the lady purred. “He was the Hoyt closest
to my age. As I said, we were very young.”

You
were young,
Bell thought spitefully. Quent would have been some years older—and ready to make
a wife of any woman he took to bed, as Camilla seemed to imply. No wonder the
man had never married. Once burned, twice shy.

“And now you’re not. Such a shame, really. He’ll need heirs
for his fortune,” Bell said sweetly, fanning herself and lying through her
teeth. “He is looking at younger women who can give him children. He seems
quite taken with my sister.”

Tess had gravitated toward the group discussing horses.
Quent chose that moment to glance down at her and say something with a smile.
It almost made Bell’s teeth grit, had she not known that was just Quent’s
brotherly interest. But the lady next to her swelled with possessive wrath.

“A chit like that won’t interest him. I believe that
doddering old man has come to call us for dinner. Let’s join the others.” Lady
Camilla sailed off, leaving Bell behind.

You’re in my society
now,
Bell thought with determination.
You’ll
not hurt me or mine, if I have anything to say about it.

Of course, did this fierce protectiveness toward him mean
that Quent was hers?

Camilla nabbed him to escort her into dinner. Bell went in
with Syd and Tess, leaving Lady Anne to Penrose.

“Our numbers are uneven,” Bell said as they took their seats.
“Quentin, you need more bachelor friends to call on. Surely there are one or
two who haven’t married my protégées yet.”

Quent didn’t acknowledge her jab about their ongoing wagers
over Edward’s unmarried female relations and his group of impoverished younger
sons. He merely shrugged and sipped his wine.

“Too many of us have gone to war,” Penrose explained in his
employer’s place. “Our only other choices are vicarages or marriage. There are
few available bachelors left in our set.”

“
All
Lord
Quentin’s friends are younger sons?” Camilla asked after sampling the soup and
pushing it away with an expression of disdain. “I should think cultivating men
in power would be more practical.”

“One has no choice with whom one does business,” Quent
finally replied in a curt tone. “Real friends are those who care for you, not
those who wish to do business with you.”

Huzzah, Quentin!
Bell mentally cheered. She knew she liked him for a reason.

“Well, some of us do both,” Fitz said cheerfully, stomping through
the undercurrents. “If it’s even numbers you’d like, I still have a few
bachelor acquaintances. But you must promise to take them with you when you go,
or they’ll never leave. They eat like locusts.”

Bell laughed, and her sisters followed suit. It wasn’t the
world’s most comfortable dinner, but with genial Fitz taking the lead, they
kept the conversation flowing. Lady Anne was never talkative, although she
seemed to enjoy hearing about the horses Tess and Syd were acquiring. Lady
Camilla, sitting across from Quent, did her best to fix his attention, but he
stoically ate his meal and responded only when addressed directly.

Bell could already see him making his excuses and fleeing
back to London. She ought to be glad to see the back of him. But she was just the
tiniest bit afraid of dealing with her instant family in this unfamiliar
setting without his aid. She might have to return to London, too, where she was
on firm ground.

She hated to retreat in the face of difficulty, though.
She’d prefer cutting off a few heads and staying the course. She pondered her
options over the exquisite trout.

Her brother’s shouts rang down the corridor. Silverware dropped
all around the table. Tess hastily scooted back her chair. Alarm surging through
her, Bell did the same.

The boy burst past a footman unsuccessfully guarding the
doorway. “Beebee’s sick. She’s crying. She needs you,” he cried—flinging
himself into Tess’s arms.

Tess paled, pried Kit loose, and hurried from the room. Bell
caught the boy’s shoulder to prevent him from running after her.

“What an ill-behaved child!” Camilla commented. “Surely
there are servants who might have passed the message more discreetly.”

Rather than scratch the witch’s eyes out, Bell gestured at
Syd to stay seated while she led her little brother after Tess. Beebee and Kit
came before cutting off heads.

Kit was red-eyed and trying not to weep in fear. Bell
understood that he’d seen far too much of death in his short life. He needed
reassurance, not correction.

Their hostess followed close on their heels.

“You don’t need to abandon your guests,” Bell protested as
they hurried up the stairs. “I’m sure it is nothing. Tess can handle it.”

“I’d rather be with the children,” Abby admitted. “I’ll take
Lord Wexford back to his bed, if you wish, and you can go back and deal with
that horrible woman.”

Bell managed a small smile. “I would spit and roast her in
the fireplace, so I’m probably not the best choice.”

Abby sent her a grateful glance. “I’m glad I’m not the only
one who dislikes her.”

“For all I know, she gave her wealth to charity and her
family adores her,” Bell said, “But she must have been raised in a pigsty. I am
trying to be generous.”

“Yes, I can see that,” Abby said with mock approval as they
reached the nursery.

Beebee was, indeed, crying in pain. Tess held her over her
shoulder, rubbing her back, while the babe screamed and kicked. Helplessly,
Bell left them to deal with the two-year-old. Tense and worried, Kit needed to
be tended as well.

She led him back to her bedchamber, sat in a rocking chair,
and lifted his chunky body onto her lap. He sat stiffly at first, but relaxed a
little as they rocked.

“She isn’t going to die, is she?” he asked anxiously.

“She probably ate something she shouldn’t. Babies cry a lot.
I’m glad you told us, though. Beebee needs her mama to make her feel better.
Everything must be very strange for her since she came here. How about you? Is
it all very strange for you?”

He leaned against her and nodded. “But I like it here. I got
a pony now, and Tess doesn’t cry so much as she did before. Maybe we could get
Beebee a pony.”

If only horses would solve all life’s problems. Bell smiled
and stroked his hair. “When Beebee is old enough to run without falling over
her feet, we’ll think about it. I’m glad you’re big enough to look after her.
But next time, try to tell us without terrifying all the dinner guests, all
right?”

He sniffed and nodded. “I
told
the nanny to fetch Tess, but she wouldn’t listen.”

Because the nanny had been trained not to disturb her
employers with nursery problems. That wasn’t going to work with her
independently-raised family. And it wasn’t a rule with which she was
comfortable.

But once the season was in full swing again, what choice
would they have? The nanny couldn’t send for Tess if she was out dining or
dancing.

Bell had known raising a family would be challenging, but
she was just starting to grasp the full extent of the difficulties.

She’d left her chamber door open so she could hear when the
nursery quieted. She hadn’t expected Quent to abruptly fill the entrance.

“I’ll be leaving in the morning,” he announced, wearing a
grim expression. “I can take Kit with me. He’ll like school once he gets used
to it.”

Stoically, Quent waited to see if Bell exploded or handed
over the boy. By now, she should be tired of dealing with the brat’s impetuous
behavior. Most wealthy society women would have taken the boy straight to the
nursery and sent the maids packing for allowing such a scandalous breach of
polite conduct.

He tried not to place any importance to her rocking and
soothing the young earl—instead of flinging things at Quent or sacking the
nursemaid. Bell was smart. She’d soon realize he was doing her a favor by
taking the boy in hand so she could return to her normal activities.

He’d been the one fooling himself to think a wealthy
marchioness would have any interest in marrying a Scots merchant so she could
keep her family together. Good thing Camilla had come along to remind him of
his proper place—or lack of it.

“He’s not ready for school,” Bell told him coldly, her delicate
features freezing into disdain. “Flee to London, if that’s your preference, but
he stays with me.”

He wanted to be relieved that she defended her brother, but
knowing Bell, he assumed she merely rebelled because she could.

“You know perfectly well that you cannot handle him, that he
will be a danger to himself in the city—that your life and household don’t have
room for him.” As long as she would hate him anyway, he might as well be blunt.
“I’ll make the arrangements with the school. He’ll need to be ready by
September. You should see by then that I’m right.”

There, that should partially satisfy his father’s demands,
and it was the right thing to do. The boy needed more instruction than Bell—or
a tutor—could provide.

He swung on his heel and marched back to his room to start
packing. Quent was accustomed to dressing himself and traveling light. He had a
valet to care for his clothes, but he preferred to leave the man in London. His
life required freedom to move swiftly. Marriage would have been a burden. Damn
Bell for being right again—although she still didn’t grasp that it was her bed
and company he craved, not her money.

***

Tess persuaded enough chamomile tea into Beebee to relieve
her cramps, then put her back on her stomach in the cradle. She smiled
gratefully at the plump countess who hovered with concern. “I wish I knew as
much about babies as you do. No one ever told me how to cure her upset tummy.”