Page 5 of The Song of the Siren (The Venturesome Ladies of Little Valentine #2)

The puppy made a small whimpering sound and wagged his tail apologetically. “Not your fault, sweetie,” Clara said, and kissed his nose.

“And then,” Clara said, her eyes glowing with excitement, “he said, ‘I beg your pardon, madam, for any inconvenience I might have caused you,’ looking just as though he wanted to murder me on the spot.”

Bea stared at her, wondering what on earth had got into Clara, who never said boo to a goose. “But weren’t you terrified?”

Clara considered this as they stood in the front garden of her aunt’s cottage.

Bea had come to call upon her Aunt Edna—for no one else wanted to—and arrived to find Clara pottering in the garden.

Before she had announced Bea’s arrival, Clara had been full of her adventure the previous day, of finding Benny, who was asleep on the path at her feet, and her run in with the man on the black horse.

“Well, I was when the horse was about to trample me to death, or so I thought, anyway. But after that, no, not really. I was just furious that this… this big bully was ordering me about without a word for my welfare.”

Bea bit her lip, rather amused. “Quite right too. He sounds perfectly dreadful and deserving of every word. I suppose if he took rather a tumble and lost a bet at the same time he was not at his best. Not to mention being embarrassed in front of his friend. That sort of thing is bound to put a fellow in a bad skin. His pride would have been bruised, if not other parts.”

Clara covered her mouth to hide her smile. “Oh. Well yes, I suppose that is true, but at the time I was too… too…”

“Riled up?” Bea suggested.

Clara nodded. “Far too riled up to think rationally. Oh, dear. Do I owe the wretched man an apology?”

Bea considered this. “Certainly not. He earned his scolding by behaving like an ill-mannered brute. His horse, perhaps,” she added devilishly, which made Clara grin.

“Clara! Clara! Where are you, you wretched girl? Where’s my tea? I’ve been waiting this age!”

Clara turned back to the cottage and gazed forlornly at the upstairs bedroom window, from where the demand had come. She sighed. “Well, I hope you are ready to have your day ruined.”

“Nonsense,” Bea said, lifting the basket she’d brought with her.

“I’ve brought flowers and some of our honey, and Mrs Adie baked some of her gingerbread.

Ever since the dowager duchess asked for Mrs Fairway’s biscuit recipe, she’s been cooking up a storm, trying out new things.

She’s determined her recipe will be asked for too. Heaven help us if it isn’t.”

“Come along, then, if you are determined,” Clara said with a smile. “You are too good, Bea, truly you are. Oh, but you won’t mention Mr Bennet, will you?”

“Mr Bennet?” Bea repeated, confused, until Clara reached down and picked up the sleepy puppy.

“Oh, Benny. No, indeed, I will not.”

Bea spent half an hour with Clara’s Aunt Edna, which she had to admit was a rather fatiguing experience.

Never had she met a woman so determined to be displeased with the world and everything in it.

The beautiful flowers Bea had brought were bound to make her sneeze, the honey was too sweet, the tea Clara had supplied too strong, and the delicious biscuits Mrs Adie had baked, too gingery.

It had been all Bea could do not to laugh in the face of such stubborn ill temper, but in the end, she could only pity the poor woman and wonder what had befallen her to view life as such a battle.

She only hoped Clara could continue to keep little Benny a secret, for she felt sure her aunt would threaten to turn her out if she discovered him.

Bea secretly doubted that would ever happen.

Edna would be lost without Clara, who did so much for her and was not paid a farthing for doing so.

Without her, Edna would be forced to pay for extra help, and that she would not like.

She was a miserly pinchpenny who begrudged every morsel of food or sip of tea poor Clara took.

Bea walked home, lost in thought, wondering if there was anything she could do to change the old woman’s perspective on life when saw a figure approaching.

Thoughts of Clara’s grumpy Aunt Edna fled as she recognised the man walking towards her and her heart gave an excited and very foolish extra thud behind her ribs.

“Lord Stonehaven,” she said, dipping a curtsey as they met on the path. “Good day to you.”

“Miss Honeywell. It is indeed a wonderful day when I have such good fortune as to meet you.”

He smiled, his words as charming as always, but Bea sensed he did not mean them.

There was an air of distraction about him, of frustration and impatience, and she thought, as she had thought the first time she had met him, that he too was an unhappy soul.

Not in the manner of Aunt Edna, perhaps, for the marquess appeared to be jovial and generous to those around him, but he was not a restful person.

In part, Bea thought perhaps it was that restless energy that drew her to him, for his proximity made her entire frame thrum with awareness.

From the very first moment he had stolen her breath and her wits, and she had been quite unable to think of anyone or anything else.

It was a curse of sorts, and yet one from which she would not wish to be freed.

“My father was asking after you,” she said, which was not entirely true. However, she knew her papa would welcome a visit and, being such a wise man, might have a calming effect on whatever upset the marquess was stewing over. “He hoped you might call upon him whilst you were still in town.”

This was an outright lie, for he had said nothing of the sort, but Bea knew her papa would forgive her when her intentions were good, if not entirely unselfish.

But she assured herself that just because she wished to remain in his company for as long as possible, it did not make her wish to ease his mind any less sincere.

“He did, eh?” Stonehaven said, his dark eyebrows drawing together.

Bea struggled not to blush. As much as she delighted in seeing him, Lord Stonehaven was an intimidating prospect and one who made her feel rather gauche and shyer than usual.

“Y-Yes, my lord. He misses Lord Beaumarsh’s company, I believe, and would welcome a visit from an educated man like yourself. ”

The considering light in Stonehaven’s eyes made her wonder if he knew she was not being entirely honest. She dropped her gaze to the floor, too abashed to hold his gaze a moment longer.

Yet it did not last, for she could not fight the need to dart another look at him, discovering a lazy grin curved over his lips, which made her insides feel most peculiar.

“A capital idea, Miss Honeywell. Is your father at home now?”

“Yes, he ought to be back by this time.”

“Very good. Then, if you would allow me?”

Turning direction to match her own, Stonehaven offered her his arm.

Bea felt another blush burnishing her cheeks and stepped forward, putting a tentative hand upon his sleeve.

Feeling giddy and foolish, she glanced up again and saw a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

He was enjoying the fact that he flustered her, the wretched man.

Not that she begrudged him his enjoyment, for she was too pleased to walk beside him, to look up and admire the harsh planes of a face that was entirely masculine, all hard lines and an uncompromising jaw.

Stubborn devil , she thought with a smile, and walked with him back to the vicarage.

Stonehaven looked around the reverend’s study with interest as the man himself poured two glasses of brandy.

There were papers piled in haphazard stacks, alongside towers of books, others discarded still open and abandoned upon shelves and chairs, and even on the rug.

The desk that dominated the room was relatively tidy, or at least, not such a muddle as every other surface, but Stonehaven wondered how he could find anything he needed without turning the entire place upside down.

“So good of you to take the time to call upon me,” the reverend said, turning to grin toothily at him.

He held out a glass, which Stonehaven accepted with thanks, then the reverend plonked himself down in the chair opposite with obvious relief.

They sat either side of the fireplace, which was unlit as the summer was still in full swing, and a prettily embroidered fireguard of poppies filled the space.

“It is my pleasure, sir. Beaumarsh spoke highly of you, and your daughter tells me you are missing his company. I am a poor substitute, I fear, but I hoped a visit would not be unwelcome.”

“True, true. I miss them both. Darling Clemmie is such a comfort to me, you know, but they have invited me for a visit, which I shall enjoy, but not for a while. Newlyweds need their privacy, eh?” He winked at Stonehaven and took a large swallow of his brandy, smacking his lips with satisfaction.

Stonehaven drank too and regarded his glass with surprise.

“Aha, thought you’d like that. I gave you the good stuff,” the reverend said with a chuckle.

“Good?” Stonehaven said, sniffing the amber liquid with appreciation. “That’s spectacular. Wherever did you get it?”

“I couldn’t possibly tell you,” the reverend replied demurely.

“I see,” Stonehaven regarded the clergyman with deepening interest. He’d known from what Beaumarsh had said that the reverend was not the average clergyman, and also that smuggling was rife in the area.

All the same, he had not expected to be served contraband French brandy with such aplomb. “Could you get me some?”

“I might, for a price.”

Stonehaven’s eyebrows lifted. “And you, a man of the cloth,” he said reproachfully, giving a sorrowful shake of his head.

Reverend Honeywell snorted. “It’s all in a good cause, so the good lord will forgive me.

I have it in mind to arrange a dance, said as much to the dowager duchess when I spoke to her last. She thought it was an excellent notion and agreed to lend her support.

Still, there is rather a dearth of respectable men in the town, and—”

“Oh, no.” Stonehaven shook his head. “I beg your pardon, reverend, but no brandy is that good. I’m not a high stickler, I hope, but I draw the line at parading myself at a country assembly for all to gawk at.”

The reverend’s face fell comically, and Stonehaven took another bracing swallow of the brandy.

“No. No, it won’t do,” he said, his voice firm.

“There’s no point in giving me that soulful look.

I’m a hard man and not the sort to— Dash it all!

No! Look, I tell you what I’ll do. I’ll send word to town that there’s a lot of pretty girls here and see if anyone takes the bait.

If I’m here, a few of the younger fellows are bound to come down.

For some reason they like to emulate me, God help them.

I’m still at Austen-Leigh’s hunting lodge.

It’s a bit of a ramshackle place, which they won’t like one bit, but I can move to the Ship Inn, which looks tidy enough, and they can stay at the Mermaid’s Tale.

I can’t pretend I want a lot of young puppies following me about, but I’ll make sure they turn up and do the pretty with the locals. That’s a fair exchange, isn’t it?”

Stonehaven warmed to the idea as he spoke.

Perhaps if he did Anne a good turn, she’d soften her stance a degree or two.

It was worth a try. He was still smarting over their last run in.

Though he could not fathom what she was playing at, the hotel was obviously doing well and seemed important to her.

Well, if she was a marchioness, there was no reason she couldn’t be an eccentric one who owned a hotel, was there?

It couldn’t hurt if he sent some fashionable and well-paying clients to her door.

As for not being in love with her, or she with him, well, what did that matter?

They’d been friends, good friends. Once upon a time she had looked at him as if he’d hung the moon, he thought a little wistfully.

He wondered if he could get her to look at him that way again.

“You won’t stay at the Mermaid?” Honeywell asked, and a deal too nonchalantly if Stonehaven was any judge.

“No,” Stonehaven replied, refusing to be drawn.

“Well, that is certainly a start,” the reverend replied placidly, stretching out his legs before him. “I shall just have to persuade you that attending is in your own best interest.”

“Good luck with that,” Stonehaven replied sardonically.

“I don’t need luck,” the reverend said, raising his eyes to heaven. “The good Lord is on my side.”

“Hmm. You, sir, are a reprobate. It takes one to know one, and I know your sort. An innocent fellow who looks like butter wouldn’t melt and the next thing you know, you’ve lost your entire fortune to him at Hazard.”

“Ah, but I do not approve of gambling,” the reverend replied gravely. “Well, that’s not entirely true. A little flutter now and then does no one any harm, provided the expense is easily afforded. Indeed, it happens I had a stroke of good fortune myself last month….”

Entirely beguiled, Stonehaven settled into listen as the reverend chatted amiably about horseracing, cricket, the annual summer fair, and his approaching Sunday service.

Before he knew it, Stonehaven had agreed to show his face at the fair and come for Sunday lunch—which naturally meant he had to appear in church too.

Shaking his head as he made his way back to the Ship Inn to collect his horse, Stonehaven decided any fellow who underestimated the Reverend Honeywell did so at his peril.