Wendy Soliman (8 page)

“I have no doubts on that score.”

“Then I — ”

“You are a gentleman, Mr. Beaumont, are you not?”

“I certainly hope so, madam. You needn’t waste a moment’s concerns about my intentions, if that’s what concerns you.”

“I dare say not.” She screwed up her eyes and scrutinised his face. “But I think there’s a very great deal more to you than that, Mr. Beaumont.”

Felix feigned ignorance, but was disconcerted that one perspicacious old lady could so quickly entertain doubts about his carefully construed alias.

“I don’t have the pleasure of understanding you, Mrs. Rivers.”

Her eyes twinkled with mirth. “Oh, I think you do, but no matter — I’m happy to ally myself with you in an effort to persuade her to attend the ball. You’re certainly correct to suggest that she deserves a little pleasure, and I’m sure that dancing with you, Mr. Beaumont, will provide her with an abundance of that.”

“Your niece will doubtless claim to be excused because she has nothing suitable to wear for the occasion.”

“Hah, I have her there! I’ve a bolt of changeable silk that I’ve been waiting for years to put to good use. It’s just the right colours for her too. Now then, today is Tuesday, and the ball is on Saturday, you say?” Felix nodded. “Fine. If Eleanor Willoughby and I set-to first thing tomorrow, then we can run her up a gown before then.”

“I take it then, madam, that you’ll be able to persuade her?”

“Just leave her to me, Mr. Beaumont.”

A
S
U
SUAL
, S
ASKIA
W
AS
the last person to retire. As soon as she’d seen the last of their guests climb the stairs, she made her way to the kitchen to commence her late night tidying and, crucially, to ensure that the range was still alight. She was exceptionally tired this evening, the extraordinary events of the day having added emotional turmoil to her physical fatigue. Every bone in her body ached, screaming out the need for repose, but before she could surrender she needed to finish her chores. She was in the midst of doing so when the door opened behind her, causing her to start violently.

“I thought I’d find you here.”

“Oh, you made me jump.” A hand flew to her chest. “All is well, Aunt. I was just about to retire.”

“Come up to my apartment first, child; I would speak with you.”

Saskia hid her dismay behind a smile of acquiescence. Her narrow trestle bed had never seemed more enticing, but she couldn’t ignore a direct request from her aunt, who so seldom made any demands upon her.

“What did you wish to discuss with me, Aunt?” Saskia asked, sinking gratefully into the soft cushions on her aunt’s commodious settee a few minutes later.

“You have had a difficult day, my dear. I just wish I were strong enough to give you more assistance.”

“Oh, Aunt Serena!” Saskia was appalled. She was responsible for reducing her aunt to this sorry state of affairs, but she felt the need to apologise to her. She was too good! “I can manage perfectly well, Aunt. Pray, don’t make yourself uneasy on my account.”

“As you managed the logs today?”

“You know about that?”

“The twins.”

Saskia rolled her eyes. “Ah, of course.”

“It was very kind of Mr. Beaumont, Saskia.”

“I expressed my thanks.”

“I have no doubt that you did.”

Aunt Serena smiled but said nothing more. She had a disconcerting habit of knowing when silence would serve her purpose more eloquently than words. Never had she put the trait to better use, and Saskia felt herself blushing under the older lady’s close scrutiny.

“You like Mr. Beaumont, do you not, Aunt?” It was a statement as much as a question, one which was answered in the affirmative without the slightest hesitation.

“Very much.”

“Do you think that’s wise? I mean, we know so little about him. He makes me uneasy, although I admit that I’d be hard-pressed to say why. But there’s something about him. He’d be a dangerous foe, I think.”

“He’s handsome enough for that not to matter,” Aunt Serena said, chuckling.

Saskia sighed, too tired to pretend. “Yes,” she said, smiling “he’s very handsome.”

“But not handsome enough to partner you in a dance?”

So that was what this was about. Fiery anger coursed through her. How dare he enlist her aunt to further his cause?

“He frightens me, Aunt,” she said, avoiding a direct reply.

“Is it Mr. Beaumont that frightens you, Saskia, or are you afraid of your own feelings?”

“Aunt Serena, what a thing to suggest!”

“Or perhaps it’s the thought of being observed in Burton Bradstock that’s unsettling you?” Without waiting for an answer, Aunt Serena continued to speak her mind. “I worry about you, my love. You work much too hard, you’re far too thin, you spend all your time worrying about the twins, about our future in this house, and…oh, about everything. You’re still young, but never find time for yourself.”

“I’m perfectly content.”

“Saskia, Mr. Beaumont is a gentleman. You’ll come to no harm with him, and I have his assurance that he’ll not let anyone connected to your father anywhere near you.”

“You’ve discussed my father with him?” Saskia’s question was expressed sharply. She couldn’t comprehend her aunt’s incaution, and was furious at her lack of discretion.

“Only in the most abstract way. I could hardly discuss specifics with him, for you’ve never enlightened me as to the reason for your estrangement from your father. Mr. Beaumont merely wishes to take you to a ball, and it would give me the greatest possible pleasure to see you accept his invitation.”

The anger drained out of Saskia as quickly as it arrived. Not once in six years had Aunt Serena attempted to persuade her to do anything she’d prefer not to. So how, in all conscience, could she deny this simple request now? Dancing! It was an age since she’d graced the floor, but she’d once adored to dance. But with Mr. Beaumont? She shivered, anticipating the moment when his strong hands would lay claim to her body in a manner that made her feel inexplicably weak at the knees. She could already imagine the envy on the faces of the other ladies, for Felix Beaumont was most assuredly a cut above the type of gentleman who attended such parochial assemblies.

No one had ever unsettled her before in quite the way he was able to manage. She heartily wished she’d never set eyes upon him. She wished even more that she’d gone with her instincts and told him there were no rooms available.

“Yes, Aunt, you’re right, I suppose. I would accept Mr. Beaumont’s invitation, if you wish me to, but it is quite impossible, since I have nothing suitable to wear.”

She sat back, smugly aware that her aunt could have no answer to that — only to discover that she had been wrong-footed once again. Her aunt chuckled and ordered her to report to her sitting room straight after breakfast the next morning, for her first fitting.

Felix saw little of Mrs. Eden over the next few days, apart from at dinner, when he detected no marked change in her manner toward him. She remained as polite and formally correct as always. No mention was made of her being compelled by her aunt to attend the ball, but she appeared to be exacting revenge by deliberately giving Felix the minimum attention that politeness dictated. No matter, he was content to bide his time. On Saturday he’d have her all to himself, and was determined to charm her into regarding him with a little less hostility.

Of the twins, Felix saw rather more. If he was at Riverside House when they were released from the schoolroom, they sought him out and joined him in whatever activity engaged his attention. They rode with him in his curricle, went fishing for a second time, and even persuaded him to help them fly their kite.

Felix occupied his time by driving to the villages surrounding Burton Bradstock, where he made verbose enquiries of various traders on behalf of his fictitious clients. That his activities were being observed soon became apparent, when he noticed the same two men on separate days loitering in the street as he drove by, trying too hard not to pay him any attention. They appeared wherever he happened to be, often in different villages on the same day, seeming to imagine that their presence would go undetected.

Saturday evening arrived, and dressed in the most formal attire that Perkins had considered appropriate to his reduced circumstances, Felix entered the drawing room before the usual hour. Saskia, too, was punctual, arriving a very short time after him, in the company of her aunt and a beaming Miss Willoughby, the twins giving vent to their excitement by frolicking about their mother like untrained puppies.

Mrs. Rivers’s changeable silk was of emerald green and turquoise, living up to its name by altering hue as she moved beneath the candlelight. The gown was gratifyingly simple. A smooth sheath caught beneath her breasts with an emerald ribbon that floated about her long legs in a manner that illustrated their slenderness far too graphically for Felix’s comfort. There was the tiniest scrap of sleeve and a disappointingly high neckline, edged with a little Flemish lace, displaying only a modest amount of Saskia’s impressive décolletage. Her hair had been piled into a heap of loose curls, some of which fell about her face, enhancing her fragile beauty.

Felix suspected from the amused chuckle which Mrs. Rivers and Miss Willoughby exchanged that his lascivious thoughts must be clearly visible upon his features. That didn’t prevent an admiring smile from gracing his lips. Beautiful ladies, dressed for special occasions, deserved to be admired. He picked up her gloved hand and kissing it.

“You look ravishing,” he said softly.

“Thank you.”

“The same could be said of you, Mr. Beaumont,” Mrs. Rivers remarked.

Felix hadn’t worn this particular attire at Riverside House before, and the ladies clearly considered his plum-coloured formal coat, contrasting silk waistcoat, immaculately tied neckcloth, and cream wool breeches to be the height of fashion.

“Why, Mrs. Rivers.” Felix arched a brow. “I believe that you’d like to accompany us.”

She sighed. “Ah, if only I were a year or two younger, Mr. Beaumont.”

The door opened to admit Fothergill and the rest of the guests. They were talking amongst themselves, but stopped abruptly at the sight of Saskia.

“My dear Mrs. Eden!” Fothergill cried. “To what do we owe the — ”

“Mama’s going to a ball — ”

“With Mr. Beaumont — ”

“And Aunt Serena and Miss Willoughby made her a new gown.”

“Is this right, Mrs. Eden?”

Saskia inclined her head.

“My dear!” Fothergill took her arm and lead her aside. “Do you consider this to be judicious? I mean, you hardly know the man. Had I known you had a predisposition for dancing I would gladly — ”

“Thank you, Mr. Fothergill.” She detached her arm from his grasp. “I’m perfectly at ease with the arrangement.”

“You look really nice, Mr. Beaumont — ”

“Like a Prince — ”

“Do you like dancing?”

“What are the twins doing in here at this hour?” Fothergill transferred his anger to them.

“Mama said we could see her dress — ”

“Speak when you’re spoken to!” Fothergill glowered at them. “Off to bed with you immediately.”

“Mr. Fothergill, you forget yourself.” Mrs. Eden swept him with a contemptuous look that made Felix want to applaud. “Again.”

Fothergill pretended not to hear her and returned his attention to the twins.

“Did you hear me, you two?”

“The whole room heard you, Fothergill,” Felix said mildly, casually turning his back on him and crouching down to face the twins. “Now then, who wants to be carried up?”

“Me, please!” Amy ran into Felix’s outstretched arms. Felix laughed, ruffled her hair, and swept her from the floor. “You’re a little too big now to be carried, don’t you think?” he said, winking at Josh.

“Oh yes. Amy’s the same age as me, but it’s all right for her because she’s a girl.”

“I don’t think this is at all appropriate,” Fothergill said. “You’re undoing all my good work by encouraging them to act impulsively.”

“Of course it is,” Felix said to Josh, ignoring Fothergill’s interruption. “Now then, say goodnight, children. Would you like me to take them up for you, Mrs. Eden?”

“Yes please, if it’s no trouble. I’ll follow directly, children, to listen to your prayers.” For the first time that evening she smiled at Felix.

“Well, I don’t know about the rest of you,” Fothergill said over dinner, “but now that I think of it, the notion of dancing rather appeals to me.”

Felix ran his eyes scathingly over Fothergill’s shabby coat but said nothing.

“It is an age since I last graced the floor,” Mrs. Jennings said wistfully.

“Wouldn’t it be too much for you, what with your delicate constitution?”

Mrs. Eden posed the question with genuine-seeming concern, but Felix thought he could detect a glimmer of mischief in her eye.

“Well, now that you mention it, perhaps I shouldn’t think about — ”

“Stuff and nonsense,” said her spouse. “Fothergill’s in the right of it. You need something to distract you from your ailments.”

“Do you really think so?”

“Always enjoyed treading a measure myself,” Captain Fanshaw said, still chewing his mutton.

Felix remained silent, not extending the invitation to join them that Fothergill was angling after. As soon as the last of the plates was removed, the ladies made to withdraw. Felix rose with them, and offered Mrs. Eden his arm.

“Ready, m’dear?” She nodded. “In that case we’ll wish you all a good evening,” he said. “Good evening to you, Mrs. Rivers.”

“And good evening to you, sir. Take good care of my niece and enjoy yourselves.”

Felix assisted Mrs. Eden with her evening cape and opened the front door for her. His curricle was drawn up in front of the house, the horses being held by a lad from the livery yard. Felix flipped a coin at the boy. He caught it one-handed, doffed his cap, and disappeared into the night. A groom from the same yard was waiting beside the conveyance and clambered up behind. At a country ball Felix could get away with appearing with Mrs. Eden unchaperoned, but to drive alone with her at night could compromise her reputation. Felix hadn’t lost sight of his reasons for being in Burton Bradstock to that extent. He assisted her into the conveyance, took up the ribbons, and encouraged his cattle forward. As he did so, he was aware of Fothergill’s face, pressed against the drawing room window, rigid with fury. Felix raised his driving whip in an ironic salute.

“Oh dear!” His lovely companion also glanced Fothergill’s way. “I think we’ve overset his sensibilities.”