Page 41 of The Derbyshire Dance (Kendall House #3)

Chapter twenty-nine

Perfectly Clear

C harlie and Hester’s trunks had no sooner been carried out the front door than Bel began to pack her own. She carefully folded her navy-blue evening gown and all the dresses she had bought in London. Her trousers, coat, and cap she left hanging in her wardrobe—she would not be needing those.

She tied the ribbons of her simple straw bonnet around her chin, tugged the heavy trunk down the stairs one at a time, and then walked to the kitchen for some last instructions. “Jenny, you’ll take good care of Magpie and all the rest, I trust?”

“Oh, yes, miss,” said the maid. “You needn’t worry yourself on that score. But won’t you change your mind? Mrs. Lucy will be beside herself with worry.”

“Just give her my note,” said Bel. “There’s nothing for her to worry herself about. I am thirty years old, and a short journey by stagecoach will not hurt me one whit. Besides, I’ve written to Mrs. Haverstall, and she’s expecting me. ”

Thankfully, Charlie and Hester’s coach was headed to Plymouth, not London, for she was more afraid of what Charlie would say than her aunt, especially when he learned that her future was not as secure as she had led him to believe.

She went up from the kitchen and was waiting in the entrance hall when she heard a crunch of wheels on gravel outside. That would be Jer with the wagon.

She slid the trunk close to the door, opened it without hesitation, and nearly ran straight into a pair of broad shoulders in a caped greatcoat. “Steady there,” said a man’s voice as a pair of hands caught her by the elbows.

Bel knew that voice. She looked up at a chiselled jaw, a curious half-smile, and a pair of dark eyes. “Nigel!”

“I’m glad to see that we’re still on a first name basis.”

Bel’s breath caught as she heard the flirtatious drawl in his voice. How was it possible for the timbre of the human voice to be so heart-hammeringly attractive? “What are you doing here?”

“Calling on you.”

Bel realised that his hands had never let go of her elbows. They were still locked into a formal frame on the doorstep of Morrison House, looking for all the world as if they were about to dance. The winter wind whipped wildly about them, catching the capes of his coat and the skirt of her dress.

“But you look like you’re going out,” he continued, sliding one set of fingers down her forearm and over the edge of her gloved hand. He peered into the entryway behind her. “Where are you going? And why have you packed a trunk?”

“Jer is taking me to the Jester’s Arms. ”

“Oh? Is the house infested with fleas? Or do you have builders coming? Is there some reason you need to put up at a public inn?”

“No, you gudgeon,” she said, finally feeling steady enough to pull away from his grip. “I was planning to go to the Jester’s Arms to catch the stagecoach.”

His nostrils flared. “Dare I inquire about your destination?”

“London.”

“But whatever for? It’s all crowds, and smells, and cheap folderols. You would hate it.” He looked at her suspiciously. “Are you going to buy your trousseau?”

“My trousseau?” Bel raised an eyebrow. “Explain yourself, your grace.”

“No, you explain yourself.” Nigel looked around the open yard. “But perhaps the doorstep is not the best place for this discussion.”

Bel folded her gloved hands in front of her waist and looked up at him beneath the brim of her straw bonnet. “Where would you like things explained?”

“I have fond memories of the barn.”

There was that flirtatious drawl again. Bel stopped her fingertips from reaching unconsciously for her lips. “You’re not dressed for the barn. And the parlour would be more convenient.”

“Hmm…my memories are less fond of that room, but very well.”

Bel retreated inside and Nigel followed her without removing his hat and coat until they were both standing, clad in their outerwear, in the centre of the parlour.

“Why did you ask if I was going to buy a trousseau?” demanded Bel .

“I heard you might be planning to marry.”

She hesitated. “I did receive an offer of marriage yesterday.” She looked up at him. “From Mr. Townsend.”

“I thought so.” He lifted a hand in explanation. “Archie had word from Jenny that such an offer was imminent. Something she overheard your brother discussing.”

“Ah, so your valet and my maid have both been spying on us.”

“Why? What has Archie told Jenny about me?” His voice was eager, anxious.

“Far too little,” said Bel, letting the disappointment in her voice be heard. “I know next to nothing about what you’ve been doing for the last year. Good things, I hope?”

Nigel looked down at her, and the gaze was so intense that it nearly took her breath away. “I can tell you. But shall we sit down?” He nodded toward the sofa.

They sat down, Bel first, and then Nigel nearby, his body angled towards hers.

“I’ve been in Lincolnshire. Fixing things.

I won’t bore you with the details but suffice it to say that Grimsbald had its best harvest in three decades, and I have great plans for enhancing the pedigree of the sheepfold by purchasing new rams.”

“Why would that bore me?” said Bel with a grin. “You know how dull I am.”

“Let’s just say that it would bore me at present, for there are a great many other things that I would rather talk about right now…like that offer of marriage from Townsend.”

“Ah,” said Bel lightly. “You want to know what I said.”

“Are you determined to be the most provoking woman of my acquaintance?” Nigel leaned closer. “Well, out with it. Are you betrothed to the vicar? ”

“No,” said Bel slowly, “although I may have led my brother to believe as much. It was the only way he felt easy leaving the country, and they needed to sail soon before my sister-in-law was too far advanced in her pregnancy.”

“What?” exclaimed Nigel, his tone so sharp that Bel almost thought he was angry with her. “He comes all the way home from Charleston after no word for seven and a half years and then thinks he can dictate whom his sister must marry?”

No, he was not angry with her. But there was strong feeling behind his words.

“Charleston?” Bel repeated, catching the name of the city. “Did Archie learn that from Jenny as well?”

She looked at him narrowly, but he made no answer.

“It was you , wasn’t it? You looked for news of the Belladore, and you posted the newspaper advertisement in America!”

“You entrusted me with the name of the ship—that day you were weeping in the barn. It was the least that I could do with that trust.”

“I don’t know how you managed it,” she said, laying her gloved hand on top of his larger one, “but thank you! You are an angel of mercy.”

He laid his other hand atop hers, pressing it lightly.

“I think I have my own angel to thank. I discovered this summer that there was a veiled woman who visited Solomon Digby and paid my debt to him. It took me a while to work out who that was, but in the end, I could not think of any woman of my acquaintance who would have done that, save one.”

She looked away. “I couldn’t stand the thought of you being beholden to such a monster. Thanks to Mr. Brownlee’s hastiness, the money was mine, and what better use could I have for—why, what are you doing?” She looked down. “No, please, don’t take off my gloves.”

“Why?” he demanded, having already extracted three fingers from their leather sheaths.

“Because my hands…they're not beautiful,” she said, casting him an apologetic look. It was true. They had callouses and scars and signs of time spent in all sorts of weather. And Nigel Lymington was a connoisseur of beauty—

“My dear girl,” said Nigel, pulling the glove off her right hand in one fell swoop. He took her bare hand and held it against his cheek. “I will be the judge of what is beautiful to me. Have I ever mentioned how much I love your thumbnails? Those perfect half-moons on each hand.”

“Flatterer,” she said, but she did not pull her hand away.

They sat there in silence for a moment, each enjoying the closeness of the other, and each aware that they were on the brink of something even better.

“Why were you going to London?” he asked, his voice low and intimate.

This was no time for anything but the truth.

“To look for you.” She stroked a thumb against the edge of his jaw.

“I couldn’t exactly show up on your doorstep in Lincolnshire.

But I thought there was a chance you might come to London for the season.

And a chance that I might meet you by happenstance—at a ball, or at the park, or… at church.”

Nigel’s face came even nearer to her own.

“I will attend church quite happily as long as a different vicar than Mr. Townsend is telling me my sins—you’ll be glad to know that the vicar in Lincolnshire does his job quite admirably.

And London parks are well and fine, although I must say I prefer walking my estate.

” He shook his head teasingly. “But as for balls, I’ve no interest in those at all unless a certain Derbyshire lass is dancing with me. ”

He smiled down at her. “I’m glad you were coming to look for me, but it’s too little too late, Miss Morrison, for I had already made up my mind to come looking for you.”

“Well,” said Bel, regaining her hand and using it to remove her other glove. “You’ve found me. What now?” She kept her tone carefully neutral.

“Now we pledge our troth, and marry, and say never a word about it by letter. And when your brother sails back from Charleston in seven more years, he’ll find you married to a duke instead of a vicar. What do you say to that?”

“Yes.” The word was out of her mouth almost before he had finished his question.

“Yes?” he repeated.

“Yes,” said Bel without hesitation. “I like this plan very much.”

They moved toward each other in unison, in an embrace as impassioned as the winter wind. It was mere seconds, however, before Nigel released her and began to fumble with the ribbons beneath her chin. “This dashed bonnet,” he gasped. “You have to get rid of it.”

“Mmm, do I?” replied Bel, but she had no time to answer anything further before he tossed it on the floor. Then his hands were on her shoulders, her neck, her cheeks, and his lips devoured hers with the pent-up longing of twelve months gone.

The kisses had only just begun, however, when a ball of fur sprang onto the sofa and nuzzled its way into Nigel’s lap. “Ah, not now, Magpie,” said Nigel, reluctantly releasing Bel to deal with the interloper. He looked down. “What’s this? That’s not Magpie! ”

“No, indeed. She had kittens this summer, and the whole litter survived. Now there are half a dozen magpie cats running about the place. I kept them all, so that if you ever came back, I could give you your pick of them.”

“What did you name them?” asked Nigel with a glitter of challenge in his eye. “Not Patches, I hope?”

“No,” she said primly. “I named them Romulus, Scipio, Hannibal, Magellan, Newton, and George. All tomcats, I’m afraid, so I couldn’t use any of your suggestions.”

Nigel clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Poor George seems rather outclassed with so many heroic names for his brothers.”

Bel shrugged. “He was a very fat kitten, so I named him after the Prince Regent.”

Nigel almost snorted with laughter. “And so you would, darling. And so you would. Which one is this?”

Bel cocked her head and looked at the cat for a moment. “Romulus.”

“Well then, Romulus,” said Nigel, seizing the cat about the middle and depositing it on the floor, “I’m pleased to see that I’m already your favourite. But I’m very busy right now, so if you return in, say, an hour or so, I shall see that you get your plate of ham.”

“Surely, you won’t let this poor cat starve for a whole hour?” asked Bel, her left eyebrow curved like Cupid’s bow.

Nigel put his hands about her waist and pulled her closer, depositing a kiss on that cynical arch as he worked his way back down to her mouth. “I’ve been starving for you for a full year, you minx. And this cat can learn to wait his turn like the rest of us.”

A knock sounded on the parlour door. Nigel groaned .

“The wagon’s ready, miss, to take you into the village,” said Jer’s muffled voice. “I loaded up your trunk.”

“Well, you can jolly well unload it,” roared Nigel, releasing Bel momentarily, “for she won’t be going anywhere.”

A pause followed that declaration, and Bel began to wonder if it was safe for them to resume their activities.

But within seconds the parlour door had burst open, and spotty-faced Archie Garrick was running in with Jenny in tow.

“Yer grace, yer grace. She said yes. I’m the happiest man alive.

Can we send Mrs. Grenville word that the gatehouse will be needed? ”

“Archie,” said Nigel firmly, standing up from the sofa, removing his greatcoat, and tossing it towards his valet.

“You may send any message you like to Mrs. Grenville. You may even spend the next hour kissing the future Mrs. Garrick in the kitchen, if you like. But the occupants of this room are to be left undisturbed for the next hour at least . Have I made myself clear?”

Archie gaped and looked from Nigel to Bel and back again. “Perfectly, yer grace.” He bundled the greatcoat under one arm and took hold of Jenny’s hand with the other, and they scuttled away through the open door.

“And now, Miss Morrison,” said Nigel, shutting the door and sinking back onto the sofa. “Where were we?”

“Here,” said Bel, and she took his face in her hands and kissed him with all the sweetness of the sunshine after a storm.