Page 14 of Blackmail at Beckwith Place

She—the Countess—had sense enough not to push the issue, though, not after Aunt Roz shut her down, but her eyes landed on me for a second with an expression of dislike.

Crispin cleared his throat. “You were lovely,” he told Aunt Roz sincerely. “Both of you.”

Aunt Roz beamed at him. “Thank you, Crispin. Such a sweet boy!”

Crispin arched a brow at me as he turned away from the portrait, smirking.See, Darling?he told me—silently, but as clearly as if he’d said the words out loud,some people appreciate me.

I rolled my eyes. “Think I’m lovely, do you, St George?”

“Of course not, Darling.” He made his way back over to Lady Laetitia’s chair without looking at me. “I was talking about your mother and your aunt. There’s nothing lovely about you.”

“You horrible man,” I told him, “did you or did you not just say that my mother was lovely, not two minutes after you told me how much I look like her?”

It was his turn to roll his eyes. “Beauty is as beauty does, Darling.”

He perched himself on Laetitia’s arm again, and she put a possessive hand on his knee. I eyed it for a moment, wondering whether I ought to make a snide remark, but before I could, Christopher leaned down to murmur in my ear. “You’re doing it again, Pippa.”

I abandoned the spectacle of Laetitia staking her claim to peer up at him. “Doing what?”

“Flirting,” Christopher said. “Or your version of it.”

I scoffed. “I am not!”

Although to look at the rest of the room—Francis looked amused, Lady Euphemia speculative, Geoffrey fatuous, and Laetitia like a thundercloud—I couldn’t prove it by them, clearly.

“We’re bickering,” I added, for Christopher’s ears only, “just as we always do.”

“Mmm.” Christopher made a noise that absolutely wasn’t agreement. “You know, Pippa, one of these days you’re are going to wake up and realize what the rest of us have known for years.”

I bristled. “And what is that, pray tell?”

“That the two of you?—”

The statement was brought up short by a, “Kindly keep your mouth shut, Kit,” from Crispin’s side of the room.

Christopher flicked him a look, but didn’t say anything.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Christopher,” I sniffed, with a dismissive glance in that direction. “I abhor St George. You know that.”

“The feeling’s mutual, Darling,” Crispin tossed back.

I tilted my nose up. “I’m well aware of it, St George. Which is why it’s patently ridiculous for people to accuse us of flirting.”

“People accuse us of flirting?”

“These people do,” I said, indicating the room.

Crispin eyed them all, one after the other. Francis smirked. Constance did too, but with a blush. Aunt Roz gave him a fond look, and his father contributed a hard stare. Crispin turned his attention back to me. “Absurd.”

I nodded. “Glad you agree, St George.”

“Of course, Darling. How could I not?”

Christopher snorted. Francis turned a bark of laughter into a cough. Constance patted him on the back, but her eyes were dancing.

“Hello, Constance,” I told her, since I had been too preoccupied thus far to have greeted my old friend when we came in. “We were so happy to receive your telegram last week. Welcome to the family.”

“Thank you, Pippa.” She smiled demurely. “I’m delighted to be here.”