Page 29 of Cupid Comes to Little Valentine (The Venturesome Ladies of Little Valentine #1)

New beginnings, high hopes, and cakes - obviously.

Beau swung down from his horse and handed his reins over to the waiting groom.

Stonehaven had returned to the Lodge earlier, but Beau had felt restless still, his mind filled with possibilities, with doubts and questions and uncertainties.

Even if it was the right decision, there was no saying how Miss Honeywell would react to it.

Laughing in his face or giving him the most terrific set-down both seemed equally likely.

Worse, she might be kind. She might thank him for his offer and tell him how honoured she was and still turn him down flat.

He told himself she was a spinster, firmly on the shelf and, given her family's situation, with no possibility of getting herself off it.

She ought to be grateful for an offer from a man who was considered a prize of the marriage mart.

God, what an insufferable bastard he was!

She ought to send him away with a flea in his ear if he voiced so appalling a notion in her hearing.

Did she not wish to change her life for the better, though? Indeed, she seemed to have no inclination to do so. But surely, she wished for her own home, for children. Feeling irritable and out of sorts, he stalked inside.

Marley House, as with Cavendish House, was a hunting lodge and very ancient, but there the similarities ended.

It was far smaller, built of red brick and with many leaded light windows, and was rumoured to have been visited by Henry the Eighth when he was courting Anne Boleyn, for its proximity to Hever Castle was notable.

Likely in Beau’s opinion, as old Henry had loved hunting and chasing women in equal measure.

Mr Heath Austen-Leigh, who owned the place, had clearly not visited any time recently, however, as it needed a thorough clean and a good deal of renovation.

He kept on only a minimal staff, who were not much inclined to do more than the bare minimum.

None of this improved Beau’s temper, used as he was to the finer things in life. Kirby was not much impressed either.

“We could go back to The Mermaid’s Tale,” he said the moment Beau opened the bedroom door.

“Oh, let me get a foot inside before you begin nagging me again,” Beau said crossly. “We are not going back there.”

“Why not? Clean sheets, and good food, that splendid view, and people who would welcome the sight of you again,” Kirby said with growing enthusiasm. “Here we’ve got leaky roofs, damp bedding, and I keep finding spiders in your unmentionables.”

Beau stared at him in horror. “You made that up,” he said accusingly.

Kirby shrugged. “Well, maybe the bit about the spiders, but it’s only a matter of time. Place is alive with them.”

Beau shook his head and sat down on the bed. “It hasn’t rained since we got here so you cannot know the roof leaks either. Now, get these boots off me. It’s too damned hot.”

Kirby did as he was asked, and Beau regarded the top of his head whilst he eased off the tight-fitting boots.

“Who would welcome the sight of me?” “Miss Honeywell, I reckon. Leastways, after what Stonehaven said about her sprawling all over you—”

“The devil!” Beau exclaimed, incensed. He might give his valet a good deal of leeway, but his friend had no business gossiping with him like an old woman.

“Well, it ain’t like I hadn’t remarked it myself,” Kirby said, unruffled by his lordship’s reaction. “You like her, I reckon. Sparky you are, the two of you. Bickering like you do. Reckon it means something.”

Despite himself, Beau could not help but ask, “What does it mean?”

Kirby snorted and straightened, having won the battle of the boots.

“Bleedin’ hell. You’re the one for the ladies, my lord.

Reckon you know a good deal better than I do.

I could draw you a picture, maybe,” he added brazenly, though he immediately realised he’d pushed his luck too far and beat a hasty retreat, muttering about polishing his lordship’s boots.

Beau harrumphed. He ought to know better by now than to ask Kirby such daft questions.

He changed out of his riding attire and made his way downstairs to find Stonehaven sitting on the terrace at the back of the house.

It was a lovely spot, with far-reaching views over the countryside, and blessedly shady. The afternoon had grown hot and humid.

“Where do you leave off gossiping with my valet?” Beau demanded as he poured himself a glass of wine. Stonehaven had placed the bottle in a bucket of iced water to keep it cold, and it was mercifully chilled. He took a mouthful, savouring the fresh, grassy taste, and sat down beside his friend.

“Well, who else is there to gossip with around here? Besides, Kirby is the soul of discretion.” Stonehaven sipped his wine and regarded Beau. “What is it I’ve been gossiping about?”

“About my little collision with Miss Honeywell.”

Stonehaven chuckled. “Ah, yes. I’ve heard of fellows being struck by love like a thunderbolt, but never seen anything remotely close to it.”

“Don’t be an arse,” Beau replied, knowing Stonehaven too well not to recognise a lure. He would not rise to the bait.

“You like her, though,” the man observed nonchalantly.

“I do. She’s funny and capable and… and surprising,” Beau admitted.

Stonehaven nodded but said nothing.

“What?” Beau said.

Stonehaven returned a bland look. “I’m sorry? I didn’t say anything, did I?”

“I know,” Beau said with a sigh. “But I can hear you thinking.”

“No, you just have something to say, but you are hoping I will say it for you, so you don’t have to,” Stonehaven replied placidly.

“I hate you sometimes,” Beau grumbled, for at times his friend was too clever for his own good. “I tell you what. You tell me about Mrs Adamson, and I’ll tell you what’s on my mind.”

“No dice,” Stonehaven said, looking remarkably pleased with himself.

“Why not?” Beau said in frustration. “It’s a fair deal.”

“Perhaps, but I do not need to unburden my soul, and you do. You’ll tell me anyway, whether or not I say anything.”

Beau glowered. “I hate you more when you’re right, damn you.”

Stonehaven chuckled. “It’s a curse.”

Beau considered the vista before him, trying to decide if confiding in his friend was a good idea.

Until their recent conversation, sparked by his meeting with Reverend Honeywell, it simply had not been the way their relationship worked.

Yet, Stonehaven, despite a bit of ribbing, had not mocked him or ridiculed him overly for baring his soul a little.

So, why not? It was either that or return to Cavendish House and confide in his mother.

Well, that decided it.

“I’m thinking of offering for Miss Honeywell.”

Stonehaven nodded, evidencing not an iota of surprise.

“Oh, come on,” Beau said crossly. “Don’t sit there all inscrutable and act like you knew all along, damn you.”

Stonehaven laughed. “I didn’t, and I’m not, I swear it.

But in light of what you said recently about being friends with your wife, it makes a good deal of sense.

She’ll not plague you endlessly for jewellery and parties; she won’t fly up into the boughs over little slights, real or imagined.

She’s a sensible girl. A damned pretty one too, I noticed.

She and Miss Isabelle are just cast into the shade by the incomparable. ”

Beau nodded, but felt somehow unsatisfied by Stonehaven’s remarks, which seemed to diminish Miss Honeywell rather unfairly. She was a good deal more than sensible or pretty. Even damned pretty. Still, his friend’s approval eased his mind somewhat. One more thing yet bothered him, however.

Though it near choked him to get the words out, Beau forced himself to say them aloud. “Think she’ll have me?”

Stonehaven’s eyes widened, and he stared at Beau in astonishment. “Good God! What is this? Lord Beaumarsh doubting his own desirability? I never thought I would live to see the day.”

“Oh, stow it,” Beau said, having had quite enough of Stonehaven’s antics for one day.

Snatching the bottle from its watery haven, he took his glass and stalked off to find a quiet place to finish it alone.

“A club?” Clara said doubtfully.

“I think it is an excellent idea, and you are welcome to hold the meetings here when the place is quiet,” Mrs Adamson said, passing another plate of cakes around the assembled company. They had already laid waste to the first lot.

The ladies were sitting on the terrace of The Mermaid’s Tale, a delightfully cool breeze drifting from the sea and keeping the temperatures bearable. A pretty posy of roses and lavender adorned the table alongside a large jug of lemonade, and the atmosphere was relaxed and friendly.

“Well, if you let them know you will provide cakes like these, I don’t think you’ll have any trouble with getting the women to come,” Clara said ruefully, taking her second cake from the assortment on offer.

“We might all need to let out our gowns by the end of the year, mind,” she added, sinking her teeth into the delicious sweet and giving a little moan of delight.

Clementine wondered how often she enjoyed such a treat and decided cakes were definitely something she would insist on having at their meetings.

“Well, I hope it helps,” Clementine said, helping herself to another, for they were too delicious not to indulge.

Thoughtfully, she added, “Perhaps we should add walking to the list of activities to keep ourselves fit. Seriously, though, how should we organise it? And what form ought it to take? Also, we shall need a name.”

“The Ladies of Little Valentine,” Bea said promptly.

Clementine pulled a face. “Well, it’s very accurate, but I was hoping for something a little more inspiring.”

“The Inspiring Ladies of Little Valentine,” Bea replied with a grin.

Clementine laughed. “Keep working on it, love.”