Chapter 27
TWENTY-SEVEN
Ravenglass
Geneva watched the newcomer over the top of her book as he entered the tearoom.
He crossed to the first available table, set down his case, removed his hat, and draped his coat over a vacant chair before sitting.
He looked tired, and a little lost, but the fatigue did nothing to diminish his air of debonair elegance.
“Good afternoon, sir,” Mrs. Lynley said as she sidled up to him. “What can I get you?”
The man smiled up at her. “Do you have coffee?”
Geneva liked the way he said “coffee.” He had a lovely accent.
“I’m afraid we only serve tea,” Mrs. Lynley replied rather huffily. “It being a tearoom.”
The man nodded as if she had just confirmed his worst suspicions. “Tea, then. And a sandwich. Ham, if you have it. I’m famished.”
“Of course, sir.”
Mrs. Lynley clearly did not hold with foreigners, but Geneva was intrigued.
Given the man’s accent and the timing of his arrival, he could very well be Jesseph Bellamy, and, if he was, she was grateful of the opportunity to observe him.
Unfortunately, the man noticed her interest and smiled.
She could hardly pretend she hadn’t seen, so she smiled back.
His table was close enough for them to converse, and he availed himself of the opportunity.
“I feel like I have been traveling for days,” he said wearily.
“Where were you traveling from?” Geneva asked politely.
“Southampton. It’s not a straightforward journey, and required an overnight stay in London.”
“And before that?”
“New York. I arrived yesterday, on the RMS Olympic.”
Geneva had never traveled farther than London or spent the night in a hotel, and the idea of crossing the ocean aboard a luxury liner struck her as incredibly romantic.
She imagined beautifully dressed passengers sipping martinis, dancing to the strains of a live orchestra, and lingering over exquisite meals served by white-gloved waiters.
Later, they would retreat to their elegant cabins and drift off to sleep to the restless murmur of the sea, lulled by the gentle rocking of the ship.
The reality was likely far more mundane, but she could dream, since she wasn’t likely to experience a transatlantic voyage for herself anytime soon.
“Did you have a pleasant voyage?” Geneva asked. It was obvious the man was eager to talk, and she was genuinely interested.
“As pleasant as can be expected at this time of year. The sea was a bit rough, and it was freezing up on the deck, but she’s a fine ship, and I met some interesting people.” He chuckled. “It’s been a long while since I had so much time to myself. I’m not much used to being idle.”
“What do you do?”
“I’m in banking. Are you by any chance local, miss?” he asked when she failed to comment on his occupation.
“Yes. I live a few miles outside the village.”
“I need to get out to Bellamy Hall. Do you know anyone who can take me?”
“I can drive you,” Geneva said.
“That’s very kind of you. I will be more than happy to compensate you for your trouble.” He looked momentarily unsure, then said, “May I join you, miss?”
Geneva set aside her book and smiled, hoping the expression came across as cool and sophisticated.
She was pleased to discover that her newfound audacity had not deserted her.
Perhaps it was the new hair, or the realization that Jesseph Bellamy was not a complete toad, but she found herself enjoying the unfamiliar sense of control.
“Mr. Bellamy, I presume?” she asked coyly.
“Erm, yes,” the man said as he relocated to her table. “Jesseph Bellamy, but my friends call me Jesse.”
Now that he sat directly across from her, Geneva had the chance to study him more closely.
His sandy hair curled softly and appeared to have been freshly trimmed.
In the light from the window, his eyes were a lovely shade of blue-gray, the color emphasized by his bronzed skin.
And when he smiled, he offered a glimpse of even, white teeth.
With an angular face and a nose that was a trifle too long, his features were not perfect, but he was undeniably attractive, and blessed with a natural confidence that put Geneva at ease.
“How did you know?” he asked, but she did not get the chance to respond.
Mrs. Lynley arrived with a tray and set two teapots, Jesse’s sandwich, and Geneva’s scones on the table.
She didn’t bother to hide her curiosity, since she had probably heard through the village grapevine that an American heir was coming to take charge of the Bellamy estate and realized this had to be him.
She made certain they had everything they needed, cast a disapproving glance in Geneva’s direction, and a downright nasty one in Jesse’s, and finally walked away.
Jesse’s eyes searched Geneva’s face for clues as she poured them both tea, then set the pot on the table before adding a bit of milk and a sugar cube to her cup.
“I’m Geneva Bellamy,” she finally admitted.
“Should I be worried that you’ll poison my tea?” Jesse asked. His gaze went to her face in mock alarm.
That was about the last thing Geneva had expected him to say, and she found herself amused by his insouciance.
“Why would I poison your tea?”
“Because I’m here to ruin your life,” Jesse replied. “I can’t imagine you would be well disposed towards me.”
“The jury is still out,” Geneva muttered.
“Is there anything I can do to sway the jury?” He smiled winsomely into her eyes.
“You can state your case and divulge your intentions.”
Jesse nodded. “All right. I came because I was curious.”
“And not because you liked the idea of becoming an English aristocrat?”
He actually laughed at that. “You are refreshingly direct, Geneva, but the answer to your question is no. In all the days of my life, I don’t ever recall thinking to myself that it would be nice to become an English lord. I think it’s an antiquated system that needs to be abolished.”
“So, you came for the money, then.”
“I came because I thought I would be helping,” Jesse replied after he’d taken a bite of his sandwich and chased it with a sip of tea. He made a face at the tea and reached for the sugar bowl.
“Helping how?” she asked.
“It is my understanding that your father is unwell and that the question of succession weighs heavily on his mind. As I’m the only living male relation, I thought I would answer his summons and do whatever I could to make things easier.”
“Are you really so altruistic?”
“I’m really not,” Jesse said.
“Then what are you after?”
“A holiday. I haven’t been anywhere in years, and I fancied a change.” He grinned broadly. “I learned that turn of phrase from a lovely English lady I met onboard. I think she fancied me,” he added confidentially.
“And did you return her feelings?” Geneva asked, suddenly worried that the lovely English lady would become the new mistress of her home.
“She was a peach, but not really my type.”
“Why not?”
“I prefer my ladies a bit younger,” Jesse confided.
“Why? How old was she?”
“Seventy-eight.”
“And how old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Twenty-eight last month. I was a turkey baby.”
“I beg your pardon?” Geneva exclaimed.
“I was born on Thanksgiving. The date varies from year to year, but my birthday always falls around Turkey Day.”
Geneva had no inkling what he was talking about but didn’t ask him to explain for fear of sounding simple. He clearly expected her to know what he meant.
“How is your sandwich?” she asked.
“Not too bad. Should tide me over until dinner.” Jesse’s expression turned serious. “How is your father, Geneva?”
She felt the pricking of tears and didn’t know why she suddenly felt so emotional. This man didn’t know her father and was only being polite. And the sooner Douglas passed, the sooner Jesse would inherit.
“Thank you for asking. He’s as well as can be expected.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Might the doctors be wrong?”
“I doubt it. But I think he will breathe easier now you’re here.”
“I expect that largely depends on what his expectations are,” Jesse replied. He seemed a little happier with his tea now, and took another sip.
He expects us to marry, Geneva nearly said, but managed to refrain from mentioning her father’s plans. Revealing the truth would make her sound pathetic and desperate.
Jesse applied himself to his sandwich, but Geneva had quite lost her appetite and couldn’t manage more than a few bites of a scone. Eager to leave, she reached for her reticule and took out her change purse.
“Please, allow me,” Jesse offered.
“I can still pay for my own tea, Mr. Bellamy.” She didn’t mean to sound defensive, but that was how it had come out, and he raised his hands, holding them palms out.
“By all means, Miss Bellamy.”
“That’s Lady Geneva,” Mrs. Lynley said haughtily as she accepted Geneva’s money.
“Forgive me,” Jesse said as he paid for his own meal. “I’m naught but an ignorant American.”
“Shall we go?” Geneva asked and stood to put on her coat.
“Whenever you’re ready, my lady. May I give you a hand with your parcel?”
“I can manage, thank you.”
“Do you have a chauffeur, Lady Geneva? And is the poor chap waiting out in the cold?”
“I’m quite capable of driving myself,” Geneva replied and headed to the door once Jesse was ready.
“A lady after my own heart,” he said as he grabbed his case and followed her outside.
“Do you drive, Mr. Bellamy?”
“I do, indeed. I own a sweet Model T Ford back home. But I also fly.”
“You do?”
“I was with the Royal Air Corps during the war. Flew an Avro 504 on raids that took off from an airfield in Kent. An army buddy keeps his plane at Mitchel Field in Long Island and lets me take it out from time to time. I had engine trouble the last time I went up. I thought that might be the end of me,” Bellamy admitted with a sad smile.
“That sounds rather terrifying.”
“It was, at the time, but there’s nothing like flying. It’s the most exhilarating feeling in the world.”
Geneva couldn’t help but be impressed and felt slightly more favorably disposed towards him. A tiny seed of admiration took root in her heart as she led him to her car and wordlessly handed him the crank.