Page 15 of Cupid Comes to Little Valentine (The Venturesome Ladies of Little Valentine #1)

“Guilty as charged,” Beau replied with a shrug.

The reverend chuckled. “Well, do not let me disabuse you of the notion. We do have a sufficiency of provincial nitwits, I assure you, but people will surprise you if you allow them to.”

“Like your daughter,” Beau replied with a trace of bitterness before he could think better of it.

“Precisely like Clementine,” the reverend agreed, either not noticing the edge to his words or allowing them to pass without comment.

“She is a remarkable girl. Do you know as many people in this town turn to her for help or advice as do me? They hold her in the highest esteem, and rightly so. I sometimes wonder how I created such remarkable daughters. I must give the credit to their mother, I believe. They are all quite extraordinary in their own ways, but Clementine is very much like her mama, God rest her soul. Such a clever and capable woman, she was, and such a capacity for love and compassion. She always knew just what to say when people were in distress. I miss her quite dreadfully,” he added with a sigh that was so heartfelt, Beau felt a little uncomfortable at the emotion on display.

“I am sorry for your loss,” Beau said diffidently, wishing they could go back to speaking about roses, despite his knowing nothing at all about the subject.

The reverend dragged out a large handkerchief and blew his nose with vigour before smiling at Beau.

“Forgive me. It’s the wine. Makes me maudlin.

If I had a few more glasses, it would be another matter.

Life and soul then, you know, but I’ve drunk just enough to be sentimental.

It’s a wondrous thing, though, to find a woman like my Mary.

To share even a part of my life with her was the greatest good fortune and I shall never stop being grateful for that.

And then to have my three girls to fuss over me,” the reverend sighed and blew his nose again.

“You are fortunate indeed,” Beau replied, though he was uncertain he meant it.

It appeared the reverend had truly adored his wife, but she had died and left him to raise three children alone.

How could that be fortunate? Added to that, his eldest daughter was Clementine Honeywell, which could not be a comfortable prospect for any father. Yet he seemed to bear God no ill will.

“Do you have no prospects in that regard?” the reverend asked thoughtfully. “I suppose you are young yet, but men of your ilk are usually under pressure to provide the requisite heir and spare, are they not?”

Beau stiffened at the question, which was none of the reverend’s business.

It was quite impolite of him to pry in such a way and yet, as Beau glared at the man, about to make a cutting reply, he did not see curiosity in the man’s gaze.

Instead, there was empathy and a genuine desire to…

to do what Beau was not entirely certain.

To help, he thought, though what on earth the reverend thought he could achieve, he did not know.

Still, he relaxed his usually inflexible stance about discussing his personal life enough to reply.

“My mother wishes me to marry and has done this past five years, but I confess the married state does not appeal to me.”

“It doesn’t?” the reverend asked, looking rather astounded by this. “Good heavens, my boy, why ever not? Why else were we put on this earth if not to find our soulmates and live our lives together with them?”

Beau laughed at this outrageously sentimental notion as much as at being called ‘my boy,’ which made him feel like a spotty youth.

“You really have had a deal to drink, sir, if that is your opinion. I promise you, men of my class do not marry for love. They marry for wealth, power, connections and the promise of healthy sons to continue the line. It is a business transaction, nothing more.”

The reverend shook his head sadly. “Yes, I know that is most often the case, but now and then a brave fellow bucks the trend, you know. You do not have to follow the herd. Indeed, I would most strongly urge you not to do so. No wonder you dread the married state so fiercely if that is all there is to look forward to. But what if you found a woman who was your equal, who entertained you and challenged you, and loved you with all the ferocity of a lioness? What if the sound of her voice made your heart sing, and the sight of her face each morning made you want to thank the good Lord for his beneficence? What then?”

“Then I should think I was as drunk as you are,” Beau said agreeably, though the reverend’s words resonated inside him like the clanging of a bell, exposing all the emptiness he knew was there but never dared to look at.

“Ha!” the reverend said, nodding. “A fair point, my lord. I think perhaps I might be a trifle foxed. Best be on my way, afore I say things I ought not.”

“I think you passed that point half an hour ago, but we shan’t worry about it,” Beau said, chuckling as the reverend pushed up from his chair and sat down heavily again a second later.

“That Rhenish wine is tricky stuff. Makes out like it’s an innocent little glassful when all the time it’s hiding a wicked secret,” Honeywell said, the words accompanied by a toothy grin that was most endearing.

“No, sir, you just drank a good deal,” Beau replied, getting to his feet. “You may consider yourself lucky that my stomach would not allow me to drink as I do in town, for I am sober enough to see you home.”

“Would you?” the reverend said, beaming at him as Beau helped him to his feet. “Ah, you are a good fellow. A jolly good fellow. Knew as soon as I met you. Bertie, I said, that is a jolly good fellow indeed.”

Beau snorted and shook his head as he guided the slightly unsteady reverend towards the door and ensured he did not tip over the balcony.

He ought not take a bit of notice of the words of a man who was clearly inebriated, and yet the notion that this agreeable fellow thought him a good man was touching.

Carefully, he accompanied the reverend down the stairs and out of the hotel before realising he had no notion where the fellow lived.

“Shortcut,” Honeywell said, pointing away from the main street and towards the woods.

Beau nodded, the reverend was just tipsy enough to fall into a ditch, but hopefully not so cast away he would lead them in circles for hours.

So, he walked beside Honeywell, who seemed to have found his feet now, and just pushed him gently back into the middle of the path when he veered off course.

It was a pleasant stroll, a bright moon illuminating their way and the sound of the sea a peaceful backdrop as they made their way.

“’S’haunted. The woods, I mean,” the reverend said, his teeth flashing white in the dim light as Beau glanced at him. “Though many of the ghosts are carrying brandy and French silk,” he added with a chuckle.

“Ah, I see. Kirby mentioned something of the sort. I think he was hopeful we might find a supply of burgundy and brandy too. I don’t suppose you know any of the fellows and could put in a word for him?”

“Oh, certainly. Easiest thing in the world,” the reverend said, waving a hand, and somehow Beau was unsurprised to discover Honeywell knew the smugglers.

At this point, he wasn’t certain it would surprise him to discover Honeywell was a smuggler. Still, the promise of the best French wine and brandy was certainly worth escorting the reverend home.

“You know,” the reverend said, grinding to a halt and swaying a little as he focused his attention on Beau with some difficulty. “That’s why you’re so bored and unhappy.”

“I beg your pardon?” Beau said in alarm.

“What I said earlier about finding the woman you love with all your heart. It’s the most important thing you’ll do in your life.

Nothing else matters, my lord. You must find your other half, the bit of you that completes the circle and makes you whole.

At the very least, you need love, and someone who makes you want to do better, who makes you better simply by loving you. ”

The loud belch that followed slightly undercut these sincere and spiritual words, but the reverend apologised for his rudeness and carried on walking. Beau stared after him for a long moment before following again, too surprised to say a word.

They arrived at the garden gate of the vicarage, which gave a violent squeak when the reverend leaned a little too heavily upon it to push it open.

The sound must have alerted the inhabitants to their arrival, as a moment later the door flew open, and Miss Honeywell appeared.

Lit by moonlight, she looked rather ghostly and ethereal, clad in her white nightgown and wrap.

It was a modest ensemble, not in the least provocative, and yet she looked so wonderfully charming, with her blonde hair tied back in a loose plait, Beau’s heart gave an odd sort of kick in his chest. He found it impossible not to stare, enchanted by the picture she made in the silver light, framed by the roses that scrambled around the porch.

“Papa!” she exclaimed. “You said you would be back by ten and its nearly midnight. I was about to search the woods. You might have sent word to tell me you’d be late.”

“Mea culpa!” Honeywell said, standing with both hands pressed against his heart. “Forgive me, Clemmie darling. I was in the wrong but look who I found. We’ve had a splendid evening.”

Clementine froze as she belatedly noticed Beau standing on the other side of the gate.

“Oh,” she said, her posture suddenly alert as she drew her dressing gown tighter around her.

Sadly, she did not realise how little this helped, as it did far more to reveal the lush curves hidden beneath the prim white cotton than to hide them.

Beau did his best not to notice. It would not do him the least bit of good to go lusting over a girl of Miss Honeywell’s stamp.

Those were the kind that needed marrying. “I beg your pardon. I did not see you.”

“It’s of no matter. I’m sorry to have disturbed you, but I thought I had best escort your father home,” Beau replied, remembering that they had not parted on the best of terms. She had been appallingly tactless, and he was furious with her.

Yet, he could no longer summon the annoyance he’d felt earlier, especially when she looked so adorable in all her frilly white cotton.

It made him want to smile. It also made him want to do dreadfully wicked things, but he pushed such thoughts aside because he was not lunatic enough to seduce a vicar’s daughter.

“That was very good of you,” she said, taking her father’s arm and guiding him to the door. “Go straight up to bed now for you’ll having a shocking headache in the morning, I fear. I will bring you a nice pot of coffee first thing, though.”

“Ah, you’re a good girl, Clemmie,” Honeywell said, patting her cheek as she released her hold on him. “Night, night, pet. Goodnight, Beaumarsh!” he called over his shoulder as he made his way indoors.

“Good night, sir.”

Beau hesitated, knowing he ought to leave at once, but strangely reluctant to do so when he might continue looking at Miss Honeywell.

“My lord,” she said, moving closer and stopping just the other side of the gate. “I wish you would allow me to apologise for my words earlier. I’m a tactless clodpole who sticks her nose in where it has no right being, I know it’s true, and I ought never to have spoken so. Please forgive me.”

Beau studied her, reading the sincerity in her expression.

Moonlight fell upon her face, softening features that were often set in implacable lines, stubborn creature that she was.

Why the devil was she even concerned about his difficulties?

She had made it very clear she didn’t give a farthing for him and was not interested in him as a man.

Not as a husband, at least. Miss Honeywell had made that point most succinctly, and he did not doubt the veracity of her words.

She would do far better than he when she took a husband.

No doubt she would choose someone she considered worthy.

A man of character, of high morals and unimpeachable honour.

Perhaps the local schoolteacher was such a creature, though surely she could look higher than that.

She did not care about social standing, though, that much was obvious.

“Oh dear. I have vexed you,” she said with a sigh, as Beau realised he’d still not replied to her question.

Worry made her brow furrow and, before he could think better of it, Beau reached out and touched the little crease in her forehead, as if he could smooth it away.

It vanished as her expression shifted from concern to astonishment, colour flooding her cheeks, and Beau snatched his hand back, as shocked as she was.

“It seems I must apologise now,” he said with an awkward laugh. “I believe I am a little foxed myself. Please do not trouble yourself, Miss Honeywell. There is nothing for you to apologise for. Now, I had best be going. Good night.”

“Good night,” she whispered, the words a little breathless.

They rang in Beau’s ears as he hurried back the way the reverend had led him and prayed he would not get lost. Had she welcomed his touch, he wondered, despite reviling him for being a vain peacock?

No, he had best not think of that. Far better that he got himself back to the hotel before Kirby fretted to death and convinced himself Edwin had kidnapped him.

With that happy thought quickening his steps, Beau hurried back to The Mermaid’s Tale.