Page 8 of Cupid Comes to Little Valentine (The Venturesome Ladies of Little Valentine #1)

Clementine gave a short laugh, discovering herself unsettled at the demand, but complied all the same.

“Well, Izzy said he had the bluest eyes she’d ever seen, though she could not decide between azure and cobalt, but she said his hair was the colour of ripe barley and that he had very broad shoulders. ”

“Never mind what Izzy said, though I grant you that is a fascinating description,” Clara admitted. “What did you think? You were there too. You were the one who spoke to him, were you not?”

“Well, yes,” Clementine said reluctantly.

“So?”

“I don’t know!” Clementine replied, realising she sounded a little testy. “He is very handsome, I suppose. Too handsome. It’s clearly not done him a whit of good, for he’s idle and stupid and vain.”

Clara stared, shocked by her words, and Clementine fought a blush. Her father would certainly have something to say about her judging a fellow creature so harshly when she did not know him at all, and rightly so.

“Goodness. He did make an impression on you.”

“Vomiting on a lady’s boots is unlikely to endear a fellow to her,” she replied dryly, though a surge of guilt for her bitter words made her queasy.

“No,” Clara said, regarding her with interest and making Clementine feel thoroughly unsettled. “I suppose it wouldn’t.”

“His lordship was also very sarcastic when I suggested he ought to do something about his cousin and demanded if he should poison him in retaliation. The wretched devil said it with such an air of bored indifference too, like he could barely be bothered to speak the words to me, for I was too far beneath his notice,” Clementine said, still unnerved by how annoyed she sounded.

“He sounds insufferable,” Clara admitted.

“Precisely,” Clementine said with satisfaction, relieved her friend could appreciate what she had determined from the moment he had stumbled from his carriage. There, see? She was not being unreasonable.

“So, why are you determined to help him?” Clara asked.

It was not an unfair question, which made it even more galling when Clementine could find no ready answer.

Kirby did not slam the door as he left the earl’s rooms, but it was a close-run thing.

He did not appreciate gossip about his master, however, and was not about to add to it.

Bad enough the great lummox had made a spectacle of himself the moment he’d arrived.

He would not have people speculating about the quality of his valet.

People did, of course, all the time, and would certainly do so in a place like this, for Kirby did not look like a valet.

He looked precisely like what he was, an ex-con, ex-boxer, and a fellow who’d been born to swing at Tyburn.

He would have done too, no doubt, if not for the earl.

As a young sprig of only seventeen, Beaumarsh had run with a fast set who got up to a fair amount of mischief.

Discovering during this time that, whilst he could fight, he had not yet grown into his height and breadth, and was also too idle to exert himself overly, he had looked for a manservant who would act as a bodyguard.

Why Beau had stepped in and saved him from the Watch that day, when they had wanted to take him up for starting a public disturbance, causing grievous bodily harm, and a deal of property damage, Kirby had never fathomed. Yet saved him, his lordship had.

Five years older than Beau, Kirby had been a prizefighter and had taken exception to discovering he was being cheated out of his rightful earnings.

The ensuing fight had been violent and messy.

Beau had paid for all the damage, smoothed things over with the magistrate, and given Kirby the first honest—mostly honest—employment he’d ever had.

He’d even allowed him to learn on the job, for he had been a shocking valet in those early years.

Somehow, however, the two of them had grown up together, and both appreciated their good fortune.

Especially Kirby, who had discovered to his own great surprise he enjoyed his work and had a keen eye for colour and style.

All of which was why he owed the fellow his loyalty and would walk over hot coals if he must, despite wanting to break the devil’s nose himself at regular intervals.

Still, the situation was what it was and no amount of bleating about it would change things.

So, Kirby must go about the town and do a bit of damage limitation by throwing his master’s money about and dropping a few interesting words in the right ears.

It was amazingly easy to change people’s perceptions of a situation if one had the right strategy.

Kirby began his day at the tobacconist, though Beaumarsh neither smoked nor took snuff, and spent a good deal of money whilst regaling the shopkeeper with one of the more amusing anecdotes about the Beau .

By the time he left, Mr Garvis was chuckling appreciatively about the young man’s ready wit and was well pleased with his patronage.

He also gleaned some interesting information when asking about the best wine merchant to buy from.

Garvis had readily supplied the name of a most respectable and long-established wine merchant, whilst asking some pertinent questions that led Kirby to understand that there was a healthy trade in smuggled goods that might be made available if someone was ready to make a significant purchase.

Always alert to a good deal, and more than content to get one up on the taxman, Kirby gave the correct answers and was told someone would be in touch.

Intrigued and pleased by this, Kirby went about his business.

He ate a hearty lunch at The Ship Inn, a respectable establishment where some of the clientele eyed him dubiously and then went for a drink at the less than respectable Dog and Duck.

Here he stood the inhabitants several rounds of drinks, some of whom looked as if they’d not moved for several weeks, never mind hours.

That the place was frequented by smugglers as well as fishermen, he did not doubt, but he certainly felt more welcome than he had at The Ship and whiled away a pleasant couple of hours.

Still, the afternoon was upon him, and he knew he’d best return and check Beaumarsh hadn’t, in fact, turned up his toes.

Whilst his master’s constitution was indeed that of an ox, the arsenic had laid him low, and Kirby did not feel his concern undue despite the idiot’s exasperation over his fussing.

Kirby, suddenly anxious that his master's condition might have deteriorated during his absence, quickened his pace along the street.

The tearoom door then flew open, startling him as Miss Honeywell rushed through.

She stood directly before him and Kirby muttered an oath, skidding to a halt before he knocked the lady down.

Beaumarsh had already made her suffer enough indignity, he did not wish to add to it.

“Good afternoon, Miss Honeywell,” he said, raising his hat and giving a polite bow whilst wondering what she was about accosting him in the street.

Kirby was well used to arranging assignations with ladies for the earl, whose handsome face and form was irresistible to certain women.

His estimation of Miss Honeywell, however, had not been at all of that kind, and he’d been keenly aware of the ill-concealed contempt she had for his employer.

That being the case, he was more than a little curious as to what she wanted.

“Mr Kirby,” she replied, equally civil. “I would like a word, if it is not too much of an imposition.”

Kirby looked at her in surprise. “I can spare a few minutes, I reckon, though I’ve been gone for some time and his lordship won’t sleep forever. I was just hurrying back to check on him.”

“Yes, you seemed to be in a rush. You are still concerned for his health, then?” she asked, her tone brusque.

Kirby nodded, appreciating her forthright manner. “I am, miss, but he won’t see another doctor so you may as well save your breath.”

She nodded her understanding. “It does not surprise me. He seemed a rather recalcitrant patient.”

“Worse than a five-year-old, he is,” Kirby said with a snort, and then felt his colour rise as he realised he’d been indiscreet.

Years in the earl’s employ, he was used to holding his tongue and keeping his master’s secrets as close as his own.

Yet two minutes speaking to Miss Honeywell and he’d been lured into speaking too candidly.

Miss Honeywell did not seem to notice his discomfort, but merely nodded, apparently unsurprised by the description.

“And do you believe his cousin will try again?”

Kirby hesitated. He ought not say another word, yet he knew damn well Edwin would try again and, whilst the fellow was a snivelling little fop, even the most incompetent criminal got lucky occasionally and Edwin only needed to be lucky once.

Moreover, no one else knew and his master refused to discuss the problem, believing Edwin was too incompetent and foolish to be an actual threat.

Even having been made seriously ill, Beaumarsh just cited his continued ability to breathe as proof of his cousin’s idiocy.

He’d had the perfect opportunity, and he bungled it by underestimating the dose.

“I promise you I am the soul of discretion,” Miss Honeywell said earnestly.

Kirby believed her. He had liked the young woman upon first meeting her, noticing the sparkle in her eyes and her disdain for Beau’s indolent pose. Privately, he thought Beau could do with a bit of shaking up and could not help but wonder if Miss Honeywell might be just the thing.

As an interesting idea sparked into life, Kirby considered the young woman before him.

She was not at all in his lordship’s usual style, that was for certain.

She was no highflyer, but neither was she bracket-faced nor bacon-brained.

An intelligent, well-bred, handsome girl, she had a fine figure, striking blue eyes, and a peaches and cream complexion that glowed with vitality.

There was a restlessness about her, and he suspected she was a woman who did not enjoy sitting about doing nothing.

Well, why not confide in the girl, a bit at least, and see what she was made of?

“His cousin will try again,” Kirby admitted, his tone grim.

“He’s up the River Tick without a paddle and, if things get much worse, he’ll be forced to flee the country.

He owes money to some fellows who are not kindly disposed towards people who can’t pay their debts, and I reckon he’s getting desperate.

I’ll be honest with you, miss, and admit I didn’t give the previous attempts any more consideration than his lordship, for Edwin Cavendish is a fool and not up to his lordship’s weight.

But this last time has me thinking it’s not so difficult to slip a dose of poison in someone’s wine, and I can’t be at his lordship’s elbow at every moment of the day and night. ”

Miss Honeywell frowned, her nose crinkling charmingly as she considered this.

“Then I was right to be concerned. Mr Kirby, I know I have not the least right to give you or your master advice, but the thing is, I feel certain I have a solution for dealing with Mr Cavendish, and think it is not only terribly simple, but almost certain to prosper. Yet, I suspect Lord Beaumarsh will dislike it very much and refuse to play along.”

“You’re right there, miss,” Kirby said with a snort, intrigued to know what she was plotting. “He’ll have my hide if he even suspects I’ve spoken to you about it.”

Miss Honeywell nodded thoughtfully. “I presumed at much. Yet it really is a wonderfully simple plan,” she said with a dejected sigh.

Kirby looked up, aware suddenly of the interest passers-by were giving them and realised it was not at all the thing for a fellow of his ilk to be seen chatting with a lady like Miss Honeywell.

“I’d best be running along, miss,” he said, jerking his head toward two women who had walked off looking scandalised.

“Afore you set the whole town chattering. I’d be pleased to hear more about this plan of yours, though.

If you’d be willing to share it with me. ”

Miss Honeywell brightened. “Well, of course I would. I have no interest in the matter other than seeing that a villain does not commit murder. If you can convince his lordship—” She broke off, noting as Kirby had that they were drawing rather too much interest. Brisk now, she spoke quickly.

“I often walk on the beach early in the morning, Mr Kirby. I shall meet you there tomorrow at six am sharp.”

With that, she gave him a curt nod and walked past him, disappearing back into the pretty little teashop.

The door closed behind her with the jingling of a bell, and Kirby resumed walking, smiling a little as he considered Miss Honeywell and precisely how vexed his lordship would be when he discovered she had a plan.