Page 29 of Runaway Countess (Those Wild Whitbys #2)

Chapter Twenty-Nine

L ord Beeston’s eyes flicked down to his hand before making a curious search of his face. He put his hand into Sebastian’s.

Sebastian clasped Beeston’s hand with both of his own and squeezed warmly. Throwing an arm around Beeston’s shoulders, he turned to his mother. “This fine fellow has already survived the trouble of commanding me at sea, Mama, so you can have no doubt that Georgiana is in the best of hands.”

Harriet Whitby let out an audible gasp of relief. Her friends turned to her in surprise, Lady Lewis raising her pince nez to get a better look at her expression.

“I declare, there is nothing like the satisfaction of seeing one’s children nicely settled,” said Harriet smoothly. “More tea, anybody?”

The ladies turned their attention back to the refreshments. Cassie gave Sebastian a fleeting smile and took her tea cup out onto the patio, where presumably nobody would ask her to reign in volatile brothers or discuss floral arrangements for weddings. Sebastian took that as her mark of approval.

“What are you playing at?” Beeston asked him, through the side of his mouth.

Sebastian laughed as though he had just told a fine joke. “Behaving myself. Of course.” He offered Beeston his arm, but Arthur waved it off and leaned on his cane, the new wooden leg swinging only a little slowly as they made their way to the settee to join the others.

Beeston kept his gaze fixed forwards. “Don’t tell me – she asked you to.” He accepted the counterbalance of Sebastian’s arm to lower himself into a chair. “If only the Admiralty had Miss Cartwright at their disposal, they would never have to worry about mutiny again.”

Sebastian took a seat beside him and accepted a cup of tea from his mother with a smile. “If you still wish to put a bullet in my head,” he murmured, “arrangements can be made to accommodate you.”

Beeston set a shortbread biscuit on his plate. “It rather depends on whether you now wish to put a bullet through my head, given current circumstances.”

“I have not yet decided.” Sebastian nodded enthusiastically to Lady Lewis as she directed a remark to him. “Oh, is Reverend Hickinbottom back in Appleby? Well, he is the ideal man to perform both ceremonies. He has known my sisters since they were children!” He took a sip of his tea and added, solely for Beeston’s ears, “You, on the other hand, have known my sister only a couple of days.”

Evelina chose that moment to show Jenny and Elspeth into the room. Sebastian rose to his feet. Beeston, unaccustomed to rising easily on the wooden leg, made do with a nod.

“What a crowd we are!” said Mrs Whitby, with surprise. Evie made a brief curtsey to the gaggle of ladies and brought Jenny forward.

“Mama, these are my friends, Miss Jennifer Cartwright and Miss Elspeth Smythe.”

Georgiana frowned as Evie made the rest of the introductions around the room. She had not been present in the library, but she had certainly noticed that Elspeth was wearing her dress. Her eyes lingered on Jenny in puzzled recognition. “Miss… Cartwright?”

“I knew it!” cried Mr Plum, starting forward officiously from his place in the corner of the room. He seized Jenny by the arm, and the assembled ladies gave a gasp. “My lord,” he began, sweeping a bow in Beeston’s direction.

“Plum,” said Beeston curtly, “You are dismissed.”

Mr Plum’s eyes widened. He let go of Jenny’s arm abruptly. “But – but my lord, I –”

“How dare you take hold of a lady in that manner?” Beeston flicked his fingers, irritated, the way he would rid himself of a fly. “Be off with you at once.”

“She is no lady!” Plum snapped, looking desperate. “She –”

Sebastian started forward, but Beeston’s cane swung around and tapped warningly against his shin.

“I know Miss Cartwright very well,” he said sharply, glaring at Plum. “I can vouch for her character. You , on the other hand, are at risk of receiving no character at all from me. Get out of my sight.”

Plum’s face reddened. He made an abrupt bow, lifted his head, and scuttled from the room without another word.

“Well,” said Mrs Whitby, looking quite at a loss. The room was silent, the eyes of the neighbourhood matrons all fixed in shock on Lord Beeston. “Well,” Harriet repeated, rallying, “do sit down, Miss – Miss Cartwright? And – pardon me, I cannot remember –”

“My cousin, Miss Smythe,” said Jenny, and impulsively reached out to steady the teapot that was trembling in Mrs Whitby’s hands. Harriet gave her a grateful smile.

“Naval discipline,” said Sebastian, making light of the moment for the benefit of the watching ladies. He gave Beeston a convivial nudge – one that he knew would rankle. “I spent a week or two on bread and water rations the first time I crossed you, eh, Beeston?”

There was a flurry of nervous laughter, though he had not really said anything funny.

“Evie, do ring for more teacups,” said Mrs Whitby. She gave Jenny a grateful smile and relinquished control of the teapot. “It’s always so pleasant to make new acquaintances, especially here in the country where we least expect them. Tell me, how do you know Lord Beeston? Are you from a naval family?”

Sebastian glanced across at Beeston. “With your permission?”

Beeston shrugged and leaned back in his chair. “I hardly think my permission makes a difference to you.” Seeing that Sebastian had not moved, he rolled his eyes and made another fly-flicking gesture, this one more wry than dismissive. “Don’t hold off on my account.”

Sebastian got to his feet. A hot shiver of anxiety surprised him as he crossed the room to Jenny’s side.

He managed naval battles, insubordinate seamen, and storms on the open ocean with nary a quiver of nerves. This, though, was something infinitely more terrifying.

And yet he wouldn’t alter it for the world.

He smiled down at Jenny and coughed to draw his mother’s attention. “Mother,” he said, drawing himself up formally – the occasion seemed to warrant it. “I hope you can withstand one more piece of happy news. Miss Cartwright and I are engaged.”

Jenny glowed up at him. The rest was no more than a murmur. His mother’s surprise, the confusion of the neighbourhood coven – Lady Lewis remarked something upon the lines of one match is lucky, two is very fortunate, but three begins to look suspicious – and Georgiana’s piercing stare – it was merely background noise.

Jenny slipped her hand into his and let him pull her to her feet. Her cheeks were flushed, but her eyes glowed.

Hugo Kendrick let out a shrill whistle of appreciation and clapped his hands. “Hurrah!” He was standing at the open patio door. When Sebastian next glanced his way, he had vanished, presumably in the same direction as Cassandra, and banking on the assumption that Sebastian’s promise to behave precluded dragging either of them back by their ears.

“Well,” said Mrs Whitby, flustered but doing her best to maintain her poise, “well, my dear girl, I am very glad – very glad indeed – I only wish Sebastian had given us a little warning, you know, a little hint – but I am thrilled!” She pressed Jenny’s hands with genuine warmth. “You do know my son Sebastian, don’t you, dear girl?”

“Know him?” Jenny could not resist shooting Sebastian a glittering wink. His mother looked alarmed.

“Well,” she said again, “he is so much steadier now than he was as a boy. A real transformation.”

“Don’t worry, Mrs Whitby,” said Lord Beeston dryly. “Miss Cartwright and Captain Whitby are kindred spirits in every regard.” He raised his teacup in Jenny’s direction. She smiled and bowed her head, as though it was truly a compliment. Sebastian had his doubts.

“But I do not even know your family, dear girl,” Mrs Whitby fretted.

“That shall be remedied at once, madam!”

The angry exclamation came from Mr Fitzherbert Smythe, who had burst unannounced through the drawing room doors. He shook his fist to scare off the footman and strode across the room towards Sebastian. “There you are, you rogue! I have you now!”

Sebastian thrust Jenny behind his back. Elspeth had already taken the opportunity to dive behind the three matrons on the sofa.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” drawled Beeston. “Who let you in?”

“A rather helpful fellow by the name of Plum,” said Mr Smythe. He pointed a shaking finger at Jenny. “I am Fitzherbert Smythe, and she is my ward!”

Mrs Whitby gave a sniff of disdain so cutting that the incandescent Mr Smythe actually took a step back. “And I am the lady of this household, sir, and I object to your tone!”

“Mother,” said Sebastian, wondering how on earth he could manage to keep his promise of keeping the day happy, “I have , ah, insulted him.”

“He has kidnapped my daughter and ruined my niece!” Mr Smythe’s dramatic revelation was somewhat marred by the way that he tripped over Lord Beeston’s outstretched cane immediately afterwards. He stumbled, rubbing his shin, and kept his finger pointing aloft. “I demand compensation!”

“I was not kidnapped!” Elspeth protested, raising her head indignantly above the back of the sofa. “I ran away of my own accord!”

The commotion brought Kendrick and Cassandra running in from the garden. For reasons that Sebastian had no wish to ponder, Kendrick’s hat was not on his head and his face was a little flushed. Cassie ran ahead of him as he stopped in the doorway to straighten up his appearance.

“I hope you have left your sword at home, Miss Cassandra,” said Lady Lewis acidly. “We do not wish to be put through a repeat of yesterday’s performance.” Cassie ignored her, taking hold of Elspeth’s arm and drawing her back from the escalating argument.

Mrs Whitby, usually so mild, so easily flustered, and so reliant on her vial of smelling salts, had unexpectedly transformed into a warship in full sail. “ My son ,” she said, voice so icy that Sebastian wondered that Mr Smythe’s heart was not eaten up by frostbite on the spot, “has the most honourable intentions towards your niece.” Her chill gaze made a dismissive flick from Mr Smythe’s polished boots to his ruddy face. “I do not claim to know you, sir, but given your utter lack of basic manners, I can only imagine that a connection with my family will be a distinct elevation for you.”

“I will permit no such match,” growled Mr Smythe. He took another step backwards, uncertainty rising behind his eyes. “She is not yet one and twenty. She needs my permission, and I tell you now, I will never give it!”

Mrs Whitby turned to Jenny and extended a hand to bring her forwards. “Miss Cartwright, I have only just met you, but already I have formed some idea of your steadfastness of character. I am sure it will not tax you to wait until your twenty-first birthday.”

Jenny curtseyed. “Not at all, Mrs Whitby. It is only a matter of sixteen days.”

Mrs Whitby beamed. “Do call me Harriet. We are as good as family.” Her head whipped back around to Mr Smythe like a snake seizing on its prey. “Now, you silly little man, you can see that nobody has been ruined at all. Your niece is happily settled, and your daughter came here of her own accord. Surely now you are satisfied?”

“Far from it,” he retorted. “What is your son? A naval captain? When Jenny was supposed to be a countess! Fie!”

“Smythe,” said Lord Beeston, dangerously low. “I do not like you.”

Mr Smythe flinched but pressed on. “I demand compensation. That girl was more valuable to me than gold. Now he has taken her, and he – or you, ma’am, as his mother – must pay.”

Jenny took a deep breath, but Sebastian touched her hand. She stilled.

“Gladly,” he said, stepping forward with his arms spread wide. “Take everything I have. All my worldly goods. I solemnly swear, in front of all these witnesses, that I will give you every item of value I own.” He shot a burning look over his shoulder at Jenny, who was stock still, as though she could not believe what was happening, with wide eyes and a bright, shining gaze. “It is a foul thing to put a price on a woman’s love, but since you demand one – take it. Take everything.” He turned out his trouser pockets, pulling out a handkerchief, which he thrust into the astonished man’s hands, and the pebble, which he gave a fond squeeze before handing over, too. It sat in Mr Smythe’s palm, the fingers slack around it.

“Sebastian,” said Jenny urgently, “you need not – you must not –”

“I must,” he said, kissing his fingers and holding them towards her. “Let me make an honest start of my life with you.”

Jenny gave a half-hysterical burst of laughter and pressed a hand to her mouth.

Mr Smythe’s eyes were darting suspiciously between her, Beeston, and Sebastian. “All your worldly goods,” he repeated, speaking slowly and cautiously.

“You ought to have a decent idea of the last batch of prize money he received,” said Beeston laconically. “You have quite the detailed understanding of my finances, Smythe, and I was his commanding officer.”

Mr Smythe’s fist closed around the pebble. “You’ll pay me to take her?”

“It’s not nearly enough,” Sebastian admitted, shrugging the coat from his shoulders. “But no mere sum of money would be, Mr Smythe.” He regarded him for a moment, the smallness and meanness of him despite his height and strength, and shook his head. “I feel sorry for you, that you do not understand that.”

“Not that ,” said Lucius, as Smythe reached out to take the coat. “That’s mine.” He darted in and grabbed it, fixing Sebastian with a hard glare. “The purse in the pocket was heavier when I gave it to you.”

“Sorry, brother.” Sebastian grinned. “I’ll have to pay you back at some future date. I’ve just promised all my wealth to this upstanding gentleman here.” He turned back to Mr Smythe. “Well?”

Fitzherbert Smythe’s mouth contorted into a vicious little smile. “Have her, if you want her,” he said. “She’s no longer any use to me.”

“No, I am not,” said Jenny. Her voice was quiet but steady. “You never knew the value of anything that could not be bought and sold.” She moved to Sebastian’s side and put her hand on his arm. “Goodbye, Uncle.”

Mr Smythe blinked, as though he had still somehow been expecting her to cower and beg his forgiveness. Finding no satisfaction there, he turned to Elspeth. “Daughter?”

“My mother has invited her to stay at Kendrick Hall,” said Kendrick smoothly. Elspeth frowned.

“But I have never met your –”

“Nevertheless,” said Kendrick, folding his arms across his chest and giving Mr Smythe a chilly smile. “As dowager, the viscountess will require a companion, and I believe Miss Smythe is the ideal candidate. She may take up her position at once.”

“That’s what you wanted, isn’t it, Smythe?” said Beeston, with a nasty leer. “Fine society for your daughter. Now you have it. I don’t see any need for you to trouble us with your presence any longer.”

Elspeth clung to Cassie’s arm a moment, looking across the room at her father. “Tell Mother I will write,” she said, finally. Cassie gave her arm a squeeze and whispered some words of quiet reassurance that made Elspeth’s trembling still.

Mr Smythe turned on his heel without a bow and left.

Jenny’s head sank onto Sebastian’s shoulder. He felt all the breath leave her body in an exuberant rush.

He wanted more than anything to kiss her then, and he would have done it, too, if it were not for the audience of the three neighbourhood matrons and their upraised eyebrows. He settled for wrapping one of her delicate hands in his fingers and lifting it to his lips.

She kept her eyes closed for a moment, as though revelling in the warmth of his lips through her glove.

“How do you feel?” he asked softly.

Jenny opened her eyes and smiled. “Like a bird set free from its cage.”

Lady Lewis set her teacup down on its saucer and turned very deliberately to Georgiana. “Well! What an exciting family. My dear Miss Georgiana, I am glad to see that you , at least, are capable of finding a husband in a conventional manner.”

“I am surprised to hear you say that, Mildred,” said Harriet Whitby, plopping herself back onto the sofa with a sigh of relief. “I seem to recall you had quite a different idea of conventionality when you and Sir Bertram were wed.” Hugo Kendrick let out a snort of amusement which he attempted, ineffectively, to turn into a cough. Mrs Whitby pretended not to hear, taking up her fan and wafting her face energetically. “I only wish you had not promised him your money, Sebastian. I’m sure it was very romantic, but you would have done better to let that unpleasant man chase after your father for it, and good luck to him, for one cannot find pennies in an empty purse!”

There was a pause in which Sebastian attempted to convince himself that nobody else had understood her remark.

Mrs Whitby’s fan fell into her lap. Her cheeks went pink. “Oh,” she said. “Oh, dear.”

“Harriet?” Lady Lewis’s eyebrows had now practically levitated off her forehead. Any further scandals and they would be scraping pomade from the ceiling. “Do you mean to say that you and Horace are in…” She lowered her voice to a stage whisper, knowing full well that her companions were hanging off every word. “ …financial difficulties ?”

“I… I…” Harriet Whitby’s eyes were bulging. Her face was so crimson it was practically luminous.

“It’s a common saying,” Jenny interjected. “Just a – a meaningless idiom, like ‘squeezing blood from a stone.’ Nobody really means that they will go around squeezing pebbles…”

Mrs Whitby sighed and snapped open her fan again, fluttering it back and forth like a particularly flustered hummingbird. “Oh, what’s the use!” she said. “It all had to come out sooner or later. My dear children, I am so sorry! So many happy occasions, and…” A sob escaped her throat. “And not a shilling left to buy the champagne!”