Snowed By the Wallflower (Revenge of the Wallflowers #48)

Chapter 10

Bel sought refuge in the kitchen, her place of comfort, her emotions a seething mass of confusion, mortification, and delight over what passed between her and Ridgemont.

With breakfast finished and preparation for the midday nuncheon well underway, Bel poured herself tea and sat at the battered kitchen table to rest. What in the name of all that’s holy just happened?

She closed her eyes and let the fine China tea warm her, her thoughts in a muddle. The wretch wants to ‘talk about’ what passed between us? She took another sip and gave herself a mental shake. Since when are you a coward, Bel? What do you want to make of it? Where do you hope it will lead? Another woman would have a betrothal in hand after that assault .

Another sip. Assault? Don’t be a ninny. You were laughing and having fun one minute, and kissing him as if your life depended on it the next. Perhaps it does.

She shook off that bit of drama and poured more tea. She pretended not to see the sly glances Annie and the others shot her way periodically, and the notice they took of her wet cloak. The girls seemed to ponder whether Bel had become overwhelmed with joy or out of sorts with Lord Ridgemont. She couldn’t have told them.

Annie shyly brought her a plate of Chelsea buns. “You look distressed, Miss, and you missed breakfast.”

Bel smiled at the girl. “Not distressed, Annie, merely thinking something through.”

It was true she realized. Nothing he had said or done distressed her. She simply wasn’t sure what it meant. If something puzzles me in the kitchen or the lab, I analyze it, sort out the variables and perhaps experiment. That’s what I ought to be doing. Listing the possibilities.

Two buns later a thought struck her. Was that kiss an experiment? If so, what did I learn? Bel was too honest not to admit that one thing she learned was that she liked kissing Ridgemont, liked it very much.

She shook off her abstraction to oversee midday nuncheon. The work distracted her as it always did. Time flew until the footmen arrived, and she gave serving instructions. “Is everything ready in the large drawing room?”

“Yes, Miss. Exactly as you instructed. You’ll see when you come up,” George said cheerfully.

I can’t. Damn. Aunt Violet expected her at meals. I can’t face Ridgemont until I know what to say to him. Not Ridgemont. John. Horsefeathers. I don’t even know what to call him.

“Kindly inform Lady Hartwell that I am indisposed.”

George raised an impertinent eyebrow, but he bowed and said he would.

The chaos of nuncheon settled before she remembered one other thing.

She had promised Sophie she would turn pages while her cousin practiced for the musicale planned for the evening. Sophie urged her to sing, and she had been tempted. How could she possibly face Sophie after rolling in the snow with that man? It would show on her face—it must—and she couldn’t possibly explain.

No, I won’t. I’ll simply ignore ? —

“I knew I’d find you here. Aunt Violet said you were indisposed, but you weren’t in your room. What are you playing at, Bel?” Sophie stood, arms akimbo, right in front of Bel.

Bel suppressed her groan. “Annie, I need a moment with my cousin. Kindly take the others and assist the footmen tidying up.”

Sophie’s look of concern intensified at that. “Tell me,” she demanded as soon as they were alone.

Bel hesitated.

“The truth,” Sophie folded her arms at her waist and glared at Bel.

“John… That is, Lord Ridgemont kissed me.”

Sophie’s expressive face transformed from confusion to disbelief to pure delight in the space of three heartbeats. “But that’s, that’s?—”

“I don’t know what it is, perhaps nothing,” Bel said.

“Nothing? Is that what you want?”

“I don’t know what I want.”

“A simple kiss is nothing to fret about. I had three rather nice ones last season.” Sophie’s cheeks went pink at that, and Bel realized how innocent her cousin truly was. Innocent but not ignorant.

“It wasn’t simple. It was well beyond ‘rather nice.’ Sophie! We rolled on the ground!”

Sophie gasped so hard she choked, and struggled for breath. “If Aunt Violet hears that she’ll have you at the altar tomorrow—or however long it takes to fetch a license.”

Bel tried to find words to explain. She hesitated so long Sophie looked alarmed.

“Didn’t you like it?” Sophie demanded. “Did Ridgemont… That is, did he force you?”

“Good grief no! I liked it very well. Too much. That’s the problem. He is too honorable a man to be forced into marriage by a momentary lapse.”

Sophie relaxed at that. “Will you accept if he offers?”

That’s what I’m trying to sort out… Suddenly there was nothing to sort. Bel knew exactly what she wanted.

“If John could convince me that marriage is what he truly wants, that he isn’t being coerced by some pompous male honor, then yes. I expect I would accept. But how can he? We’ve known each other less than a week.”

Sophie’s expression turned sly and the sides of her mouth lifted. “John, is it?”

Bel blushed. “Ridgemont sounds a bit formal under the circumstances.”

The kitchen maids trooped in after the footman and the cart of dirty dishes.

“Enough, Sophie! We have work to do.”

Sophie glanced around and nodded at Bel. “Will I see you at dinner?”

“Yes. Perhaps. If I can get control of what I need to say,” Bel murmured.

“I’ll cover for you with Aunt Violet, but you have to face him eventually.”

John trudged into his rooms and marched toward the dressing room trailing water.

Graves frowned in disapproval. “What have ye done to yerself? Y’look like y’ve rolled in the snow.”

John shot him a scathing look.

“You did! Y’walked out with a fine lady and come home wet from the snow. Yer grandfather will have your head if y’don’t?—”

“I know my duty, Graves. Just help me change clothes.”

The valet did so in sullen silence.

When John requested an evening coat, Grave’s eyebrow rose. The valet took an inordinate amount of time with the cravat. “Get on with it, man!” John spat.

“If yer speaking with the earl you best look the part of a fine gentleman,” Graves muttered.

“I’m not…” Well, in fact he did plan to speak with the Earl of Hartwell but not for the reason Graves assumed. At least not yet.

John went down to the breakfast room, searching for Bel as soon as he entered, only to be disappointed. They needed to sort through what was happening between them. He needed to know how she felt, but she wasn’t there. Neither were Cecil and his group, thank goodness, but it was much too early for them to arise. Neither was Lord Hartwell, unfortunately.

John would have to wait, something he loathed doing. He retired to the library while the ladies fluttered to the drawing room and some of the younger men set off on a morning ride. He spent two hours alternately sifting through newspapers and pacing the library. All he could think about was his behavior with Bel. He’d crossed the line a gentleman should not cross. The trouble was he wanted to do it again—and more. He couldn’t get the feel of her out of his head.

Finally, certain he would go mad waiting, he prowled the first floor searching for Hartwell. Searching for Bel. To no avail. When she failed to turn up for nuncheon, he knew she was hiding from him. The meal had such a fine touch he knew where to find her, but he restrained himself from storming the kitchen. If Bel needed time, he would give it to her.

At least, the earl had risen and joined his guests at last. John waited impatiently for the meal to finish. As it wound down, Peter Hartley suggested to some others that they seek the billiard room.

“I wouldn’t. I saw it last night, and the surface of the table has been damaged,” John told him quietly. The earl heard the exchange and frowned. When he approached, John didn’t give him a chance to question his comment about billiards. Before the earl could speak, John asked for a private word. Unfortunately, Lady Bellachat overheard and sent him a smug look. Peter Hartley saw it and grinned at him.

Dear God, gossip already. I really do need to speak with Bel.

The earl’s study smelled of smoke and beeswax, far better than the aromas his son’s friends left in their wake. They sat in leather chairs with a small table between them. Hartwell didn’t offer him a drink. He could have used one.

“What do you have to say to me? Something happy, I hope.” Hartwell began.

Can he think I mean to offer for his niece already?

“No.” At John’s curt response the earl’s eyes flew wide. “I need to discuss your son.”

“My son? See here, Ridgemont! My family is none of your business.”

“Ordinarily, that is true. However ill-behaved Cecil is, he is your problem, not mine. When he insults me and threatens to shame my good name, it becomes my problem. Do you even know what he has been up to?”

“I have a feeling you plan to tell me,” the older man said, sinking back.

“I understand you had words with the Marquis of Aldridge the season before last.”

“Aldridge? That was…” the earl sputtered

John held up a staying hand. “He accused Cecil of causing the disaster at The Duchess of Haverford’s venetian breakfast and blaming it on Miss Westcott. He was correct. I know because Cecil bragged about it. In detail. He was proud of what he did to those people and particularly proud of making a fool of B— Miss Westcott.”

“He never did like her,” Hartwell muttered. “But how is it an insult to you?”

“I am ashamed to tell you that I was drunk that night. When they began a round of making up foolish names for the lady—The Westcott Witch, Bel the Bilious, The Westcott Assassin, The Westcott Fiend—laughing every time. I muttered “The Westcott Menace,” they howled, and it stuck. I never intended to harm the lady; I never said the foul name again. Cecil did. He spread it far and wide.”

“So I was told, and we sent him away. It died down when the Season ended. One didn’t hear a word of it last year.”

“I gathered that. I assume he was invited back this week for that reason.”

The earl shrugged and John went on. “This week he is at it again. Cecil told B— erm, Miss Westcott that, when he returns to London in the Spring, he plans to spread the hateful nickname far and wide and make certain society learns I am the culprit who made it up. It won’t do me any harm, but it will your niece. Cecil thinks it will hurt her more if the catch of the Season—his words not mine—thinks she’s a menace.”

The earl closed his eyes and sighed deeply. “He didn’t learn anything.”

“No, he did not. Perhaps I should explain what I said to Peter. I went in search of Cecil and found your billiard room stinking of smoke, brandy and vomit and afloat in bottles and unmentionable stains. Harry Smithers destroyed the surface of the table just as I walked in. They found it hilarious. The bunch of them are worthless juvenile trouble makers. I suggest you exile him again and forbid his friends to follow.”

The earl nodded sadly. “I hoped allowing him home as his mother begged would show him improved. Not so. There won’t be much left of our good name for David to inherit if he continues unchecked.”

“I’m sorry to bear bad news,” John murmured.

“I’m glad you did. It is as I feared. His mother refuses to hear it, but she’ll have to bear it.” The earl laughed bitterly. “And here I thought you wanted to speak of my niece.”

“Not quite yet.”

“With Cecil’s behavior I can hardly blame you, but Sophie is a fine girl.”

Sophie? Is he mad? “Lady Sophie is a lovely girl, but not my interest.”

The earl jerked upright. “Bel? You are interested in Bel?”

“Interested yes, but not decided. We’ve known each other but a week, and the lady has had a difficult time of it. She needs time to get to know me.”

The earl nodded. “A good girl is Bel, but she has an odd hitch or two to her step that hasn’t served her well.”

“Do I have your permission to court the lady? Perhaps in time I’ll come to her guardians for permission to offer for her.”

The earl smiled then, genuinely pleased. “Bel deserves happiness. I wouldn’t have thought she was the sort you’d want, though. Treat her gently. Don’t break her heart.”

“You may count on it,” John replied.

After that, the afternoon crawled. When Bel didn’t turn up for dinner, he had had enough.

As soon as the gentlemen finished their port, he paused in the hallway, torn between retiring and seeking her out.

“She’s in the kitchen, of course.”

He turned to see Lady Sophie with an impish grin. “Go talk to her.