Page 14 of Cupid Comes to Little Valentine (The Venturesome Ladies of Little Valentine #1)

We few, we happy few, we band of brothers.

Beau strode back to the hotel, anger burning inside him.

How dare she! How dare she? The words circled in his mind as he slammed through the doors of the hotel, making Mrs Adamson almost leap out of her skin at the sight of him.

He startled her to such a degree, the lovely flower arrangement she was about to place on the table in the centre of the entrance hall almost slid from her grasp.

Beau leapt forward and steadied it, and between them they put it carefully down.

“I beg your pardon,” he said, letting out a breath. “I did not mean to scare you.”

Mrs Adamson smiled. It was a lovely smile, and she was a beautiful woman, yet the smile did not quite reach her eyes.

It was not quite genuine. She was not quite genuine, as if she were playing a part.

Unlike Miss Honeywell, who was most determinedly exactly what she appeared to be.

An interfering little busybody, he thought crossly.

Yet that was not true, nor fair. He had asked her, had he not, what it was she had gleaned from his words?

Just because she was a deal too astute for his comfort was not her fault.

“You appear a trifle discomposed, Lord Beaumarsh,” Mrs Adamson observed.

“Why not come through to the terrace? Major Hancock and Captain Dearborn are already there, and Reverend Honeywell. It is a lovely cool spot on a warm afternoon and overlooks the sea. I have a splendid Rhenish wine, chilled to perfection,” she added enticingly.

Beau hesitated. He had fully intended to go upstairs and make a nuisance of himself to Kirby until he felt better, but he was far too curious not to meet the dreadful Miss Honeywell’s father, and he thought perhaps his stomach might accept a little glass of white wine where it had baulked at the red.

“That sounds perfect,” he said, and allowed Mrs Adamson to lead him up the stairs, through an elegant lounge area and towards large glass doors that opened onto the terrace.

Stepping outside, he discovered it was an enchanting spot.

Large pots overflowing with red geraniums were set at intervals along the elaborate wrought-iron balustrade.

The scarlet flowers seemed brighter still, set against the black painted fancy work of the railing.

Along the wall of the house scrambled a lush climbing jasmine, the scent of its tiny white flowers quite intoxicating.

Beau took a moment to appreciate the setting and the splendid view over the sea as Mrs Adamson led him to a table where three men were seated, sharing a bottle of wine.

They looked up as Beau appeared, their expressions ranging from disapproving to welcoming.

“My Lord Beaumarsh, might I introduce you to Captain Dearborn, Major Hancock, and Reverend Honeywell? Gentlemen, this is the Earl of Beaumarsh.”

The reverend leapt to his feet and grasped his hand, shaking it warmly. “Good day, good day to you, my lord. How delightful to meet you!”

Beau did not know what he had expected of Miss Honeywell’s father, but he at once warmed to this jovial fellow with his twinkling blue eyes and toothy smile.

“A pleasure, my lord,” Major Hancock said, his greeting more formal but no less cordial.

An old soldier, the major was perhaps on the high side of sixty, with iron grey hair and an upright bearing.

His companion was younger, perhaps forty at most, his tanned, handsome face pleasingly weather-beaten.

His eyes, however, were a deal colder, and he looked at Beau with obvious mistrust. Beau did not wonder at it.

His title and his looks often set other men’s backs up, making them feel they had something to prove even when they did not, and he ignored the man’s offhand greeting, settling himself down at the table.

“Bring us another bottle, Anne, there’s a good girl,” the major requested of Mrs Adamson. The lady acknowledged the request, allowing the familiarity, which seemed fond rather than insinuating.

“I believe you have met my eldest daughter, my lord?” the reverend said, emptying the last of the bottle on the table into a fresh glass.

“I have had that pleasure, yes,” Beau said, a little taken aback that the man would admit to it, for the circumstances of their meeting were rather improper.

“A lovely young woman,” the major said approvingly. “But of course Lord Beaumarsh has met her. Vomited over her feet, didn’t he?” he added, slapping his knee and giving a bark of laughter as if it were the funniest thing he’d ever heard.

Beau winced, and wished the fellow to the devil, but he could hardly pretend it wasn’t true, as the major had witnessed the entire thing. “I believe she has forgiven me,” he said, a little stiffly.

“Oh, no doubt. Never holds a grudge, does Miss Honeywell,” the major added, wiping his eyes.

“Must admit, I thought you a shabby devil for serving her such a trick, but her father here swears you really were taken ill, not drunk as a wheelbarrow as I had supposed. Nothing worse than a dicky tummy. I’ve had my fair share, you know.

After the Battle of Seedaseer—that’s in Mysore country, you understand—I had the worst attack of my life.

Thought I would die in that infernal heat and—”

“Good God, Hancock, give it a rest,” Captain Dearborn said, though not unkindly. “I’m as ready as any man to be impressed by your war stories, but leave out the unsavoury details, for heaven’s sake. Beaumarsh here is not a military man and won’t appreciate it.”

The major blustered and apologised, though rather pedantically pointed out that he had given no unsavoury details yet.

Beau simply smiled, very aware of the subtle rebuke the captain had offered him.

The reason for his less than warm manner became obvious, however, as Mrs Adamson reappeared, and the captain’s eyes lit up.

He jumped to his feet, hurrying to take the tray she carried, laden with another bottle of wine and plates of sandwiches and small savoury tarts.

As he moved, Beau perceived he limped badly and then noticed the walking stick propped on the back of the man’s chair.

“Here, let me,” the captain said, taking the tray from Mrs Adamson, who gently chided him, assuring him she was quite capable of managing without expiring of fatigue.

“That’s beside the point,” he said sternly, and placed the tray down on the table.

Giving Dearborn an impatient glance, Mrs Adamson returned her attention to the rest of them.

“Do tuck in, gentlemen. Reverend, Mrs Fairway made the roast beef and horseradish sandwiches extra hot, just as you like them. The rest of you, consider yourselves warned,” she added with a smile, before leaving them alone again.

The major watched Mrs Adamson leave the terrace, his eyes wistful as he followed the sway of her lush hips. “Ought to be married,” he said, shaking his head sadly. “Not working her fingers to the bone in this place. If only I were twenty years younger.”

“Indeed,” the captain said, his tone a little snappish.

“Oh, I would certainly like to see her happily married with a family, but I rather think she enjoys running this place. She’s made a terrific success of it, after all.

A pity we don’t have more customers of his lordship’s rank to make it fashionable for her,” the reverend said, surprising Beau, who might have thought a clergyman would believe a woman’s job was as a wife and mother and nothing more.

But then, he was Miss Honeywell’s father, and she was hardly a conventional miss, was she?

Beau sipped his wine, discovering it was excellent, crisp and light with faint traces of honey and chamomile.

Captain Dearborn changed the subject, turning the talk to Napoleon, which got Major Hancock so riled up that the reverend was forced to change it again and asked him about his roses.

These were infested with aphids and so did little to soothe the old fellow.

Still, the talk moved on to fishing, then to a rather fine French brandy that Honeywell had got his hands on, and then onto discussions about the eruption of Mount Tambora, which had caused so much devastation in the Dutch East Indies.

Before Beau knew it, the sun was going down, glowing gold and turning the entire sky the most extraordinary colour.

He watched it slowly sinking, disappearing beneath the horizon as the men chattered and laughed, realising with some surprise that it had been a most enjoyable evening.

Mrs Adamson had come and gone, lighting candles on the tables, and bringing more food, and several more bottles.

Beau wondered how much they’d drunk between them, for he never seemed to have an empty glass, and regarded the reverend with dawning respect, for the fellow had kept up with them all and did not appear even a little disguised.

“Well, I’d best call it an evening. My little Penny will be waiting for me and wanting her supper,” the Major said with a fond sigh.

The reverend caught Beau’s eye and smiled. “His cat,” he explained.

“I’ll go with you,” the captain said, unbending sufficiently to give Beau a polite nod and bid him a good evening as he followed the major, leaning heavily on the walking stick as he went.

“Excellent fellows,” the reverend said with a smile, upending the last bottle into his own glass once Beau had refused it. “Jolly good company.”

“They were,” Beau admitted.

“You look surprised. You perhaps suspected such an out of the way town would be filled to the brim with provincial nitwits?” Honeywell observed, his keen eyes studying Beau.

Suddenly, Beau knew where Miss Honeywell had inherited her shrewdness from.

Here was a fellow who missed nothing and was a good deal sharper than he made out.

He could well imagine the unsuspecting inhabitants of Little Valentine lulled into thinking he was an amiable buffoon when the truth was quite different.