Chapter Two
“He kissed you!” Gwenys shrieked, and rushed to her side the moment Berry returned home still slightly dazed from that thoroughly improper kiss that had every bone in her body melting.
The other ladies now surrounded her, all atwitter.
“How was it?” Alice asked, grabbing her hand and giving it an excited squeeze.
“Was it nice?” Mabel asked, turning Berry to face her.
“The brute! You ought to have slapped him,” Maude Harcourt intoned, for she was quite the stickler for decorum, and what Gideon had done was utterly shocking and not to be condoned. “That would have put him in his place.”
“And what do you think he would have done had I slapped him, Maude?”
The prudish spinster fidgeted. “Well, you could have at least looked angry.”
“No, I could not,” Berry said as her friends now took their seats and she began to pour the tea. “He told me the most extraordinary thing.”
“What did he say to you?” Miranda asked, almost toppling out of her seat in anticipation.
“All of those workers, including himself, were raised at St. Brigid’s. My orphanage. And isn’t it wonderful they are all productive members of society and working in honorable trades? My father and grandfather would be so proud.”
Arabella smiled at her as she reached for a slice of buttered bread. “How wonderful. And does this not say something about Mr. Knight, too?”
Berry nodded. “Perhaps he is not as arrogant as I thought. I am going to send him an invitation to Saturday’s charity affair. I think he will attend.”
Miranda had just scraped some sugar off the sugar cone and now looked up. “Truly? That will cause quite a stir, but I’m glad you will invite him. After all, he is my neighbor, too. Perhaps not right next door, but you and I and Mr. Knight all reside on Duchess Square, do we not?”
Maude pursed her lips, looking as though she had just sucked on lemons. “Fiona really ought to have sold to a respectable spinster of means instead of a crass oaf off the streets.”
“I think Mr. Knight was also raised at St. Brigid’s, so I would hardly refer to him as an oaf off the streets, Maude. Perhaps this is why Fiona thought he might make a good neighbor for me. That is quite a strong bond between us, don’t you think?”
She snorted. “You are best served encouraging Viscount Hawthorne’s courtship. Now, he’s a real gentleman.”
“A viscount with a desperate need for deep pockets,” Gwendolyn Carstairs, another of Berry’s neighbors on Duchess Square, remarked. “He is interested in Berry’s trust fund, not Berry herself. Although you are lovely and kind and he could very well fall in love with you.”
Berry did not believe the viscount would ever love her, although how could she know what love looked like? In all of her eight and twenty years, soon to be nine and twenty, she had never been kissed with true passion—except for Gideon’s surprising kiss today, but that did not count.
How could it? He had kissed her passionately on behalf of the orphanage. Not for himself.
In many ways, his was the nicest kiss she had ever received, because it was given with a sincere abundance of feeling.
Was this not how kisses ought to be given? From the heart. With depth and meaning.
Since the noise from next door had finally died down, they moved on to attend to their business matters. Their weekly meetings over tea were not merely to relate the latest gossip but to discuss causes and do something about helping the downtrodden.
The next few hours flew by, and it was soon time for her friends to take their leave.
Berry gave each one a kiss on the cheek, even sour Maude, who was really quite nice but had such a dreary outlook on everything.
If the sun were shining, she would remark upon how annoyingly aglare it was.
If the weather were cool and overcast, she would complain about being frozen and found dead in her bed by morning.
Berry had taken it upon herself to coax smiles out of Maude, and was delighted when she got a smile and a hug out of her now. “Berry, keep your windows closed or all the dust stirred up by Mr. Knight’s construction will seep into your lungs and give you a fatal disease.”
“Thank you, Maude. I shall do my best not to breathe.”
Miranda’s niece, nineteen-year-old Gwenys, threw her arms around Berry. “What an exciting afternoon! I cannot wait until next week. Do you think he will kiss you again? Do you want him to? I certainly would. Do you think he would kiss me if—”
Miranda dragged her away. “Gwenys, if I catch you anywhere near that man I shall haul you off to the wilds of Scotland and keep you locked away until you turn fifty.”
“Aunt Miranda!” Gwenys whined as the pair marched off for home, which was merely across their small square.
Arabella kissed Berry’s cheek. “I had better hurry home to await my dear Hubert. He is such a creature of habit and would be utterly lost if I am not home to greet him.”
Berry thought it was quite nice the way Arabella and her husband were around each other. They sincerely enjoyed being in each other’s company. They adored their children and adored each other.
Once all the ladies had gone home, Berry sat alone on her settee while lost in thought.
Her butler approached. “Lady Berry, shall I clear away the table now, or do you wish me to wait?”
“Oh, yes. Please do it now, Melton. I shall get out of your way. I ought to look in on Mrs. Garland, since she was feeling too poorly to come out of her bedchamber today.” The genteel, elderly lady had been hired years ago by her father’s trustee, Lord Berwick, to live with Berry and serve as her chaperone and companion.
The arrangement served both of them well, since Mrs. Garland had been raised in the better circles of London Society but had fallen upon hard times, and Berry was considered too young even now to live on her own without raising eyebrows.
“And I have an important invitation to write.”
“Very good, Lady Berry.”
She scurried upstairs and quietly entered Mrs. Garland’s bedchamber.
“Cora,” she whispered to the maid attending her, “how is she?”
“No fever, m’lady. But the poor thing is quite fatigued. I fear it is old age and not any disease that is wearing her down.”
Berry felt a pang of regret. The passage of time seemed to be stealing everyone away from her.
But Mrs. Garland would be well cared for here. Berry could do no less for her after all the years of her kind devotion.
Since she had no intention of waking the woman from her peaceful slumber, Berry went downstairs to her study to write Mr. Knight’s invitation. The invitation cards were engraved with all the details, so she had only to add a short, personal note to him.
Once done, she thought to hand it to Melton to deliver next door, but then changed her mind.
He and her housekeeper, Mrs. Bolton, were busy clearing away the mess from the parlor. And anyway, should she not make the friendly gesture toward her new neighbor? They had St. Brigid’s in common, and that ought to put them on immediately friendly terms.
Well, Maude would consider it highly improper to deliver the invitation herself, as would most of the ton, Berry supposed.
“Honestly,” she muttered, walking out the door with the invitation card in her hand. She had led an exemplary life, never taking a toe out of line. To make anything tawdry out of this friendly gesture would show her accusers to be the rude and petty ones.
She marched up Mr. Knight’s front walk and knocked at his door. When no one answered, she pounded until her fist began to throb.
His butler finally opened it.
“May I help you?” he asked, his eyes opening wide in obvious surprise.
The man looked a little dusty, no doubt from all the construction swirling around him. He probably served as butler, caretaker, and night watchman while the entire back of Mr. Knight’s house was being torn out to expand what had once been Fiona’s music room.
This explained why he was not wearing proper livery. His uniform would be ruined while he worked amid this mess. Obviously, no decent staff could be kept here just yet.
“You must be Bonham. Yes, I came to deliver this invitation for Mr. Knight.”
The man cast her a blank stare.
Honestly, why hire this man who appeared slow and was obviously deaf, as that Gideon fellow had mentioned in passing?
Not to mention, she had resorted to pounding on the door with the full force of her fist to get him to hear her.
Thieves could break in and steal whatever they wanted, and this man would never know it.
Well, few outsiders ever walked onto Duchess Square, but they might if they realized how poorly watched this house truly was. She hoped having a warm body seen patrolling would be enough to keep most bounders away.
“An invitation!” she said louder, trying not to show her frustration as the man continued to gaze at her with a look of utter bewilderment.
Hopefully, the work would end soon and Mr. Knight would move in with a full complement of sharp-witted servants.
She craned her head to peek inside, just out of curiosity.
Ugh, what a mess. The place was simply not livable yet.
“It is nice to meet you, Bonham,” she shouted again.
Good gracious. That fellow, Gideon, had mentioned Mr. Knight’s butler was deaf as a post, but this was beyond description.
“I am Mr. Knight’s neighbor, Lady Berengaria!
” She smiled, pointed to herself, and then to her house, which looked quite lovely as the fading sunlight shimmered upon the lintels and roof coping, and warmed the stonework.
“I have an invitation for him,” she shouted again as she shoved the sealed card into his hand, hoping Bonham knew to forward it to his employer with all due haste.
“For a Saturday party. It is important he receives it today. In time for Sa-tur-day!”
When the man did not appear to understand—goodness, he had such a confused look about him—she shouted the instruction again. “Important! Mr. Knight! Today!”
“Yes, m’lady,” he said with a smile. “I’ll see that he gets this invitation at once.”