near Portsmouth, not far from my brother Gabriel and his family. Gabriel marvels at the earl’s support of any number of unusual charities. And my brother is not easy to impress. One might call him unconventional.”
“Your brother or the earl?”
“Both, I suspect.”
“And what sort of charities?”
“I think you shall have to ask him yourself. But beware; for all his generosity he is as poor as a church mouse, a fact that is well known.”
“Then how fortunate that I am not.”
Mrs. Kendrick moved away with a languid grace that made Jess think of the bedroom. She did not approach Belmont, however, but rather went back to the countess.
What an entertaining group this was. He eyed Crenshaw. Unfortunately, not all of the entertainment was as amusing as Nora Kendrick, or as tempting as Beatrice Brent. Crenshaw had sought Beatrice out again, he could see, and had tucked her arm possessively through his.
The familiarity of it made Jess’s gut roll. He closed his eyes and prayed for calm. Though Beatrice let go of Crenshaw’s arm soon enough, she did give the man her complete attention, as though what he was prosing on about fascinated her as much as the artist she had discussed at dinner. Was it pretense or was she really intrigued by him?
It did not matter, he insisted to his nobler self. He was here to reclaim the land and not to play the hero, no matter how appealing the heroine in distress was.
Chapter Nine
THE COUNTESS CALLED for their attention and several conversations faded as everyone turned to her. “Mrs. Kendrick wants to share her talent this evening. She claims she will be awake all night worrying if she does not. Of course there will be more guests in a few days, but she would prefer to entertain you now.”
“I could help her sleep.”
Beatrice pretended she had not heard Lord Crenshaw’s comment, certain that it was meant for Lord Belmont’s ears only.
“Did you hear what Lord Crenshaw said?” Ceci whispered to her sister.
Beatrice nodded.
“And the earl laughed. How could he?”
“What else would he do? I expect men make those sorts of comments all the time.”
“Not Papa!” Cecilia said with shocked certainty.
“No, not Papa,” Beatrice lied, allowing a flash of annoyance at her sister’s naïveté. After all, Papa was a man, not even born a gentleman.
“It was a comment no gentleman should make in the presence of ladies.” Cecilia blushed. “Mayhap he does not think of us as ladies.”
“Of course he does, Ceci. He did not think we would hear him. Now stop buying trouble and let’s watch Mrs. Kendrick.”
Cecilia gave a halfhearted nod, pretending that she believed her sister.
“If you would all have a seat in the chairs gathered in this semicircle.” The countess gestured toward the seating.
Most took the seat nearest to them, though a few of the gentlemen remained standing, moving to the edge of the circle.
Mrs. Kendrick stood in the center of the gold-tone Turkey carpet. Her dog was wide awake now. With a word for his ears alone she set him on the carpet and waited while he sat up and looked at her.
“Good dog.” Her voice had a singsong quality to it when she spoke to her pet, and Beatrice suspected that the dog responded to the tone as much as her words.
Mrs. Kendrick went through a series of conventional commands including “Sit,” “Roll over,” and “Shake.” The dog performed all on cue and everyone made appropriate sounds of approval.
“That, my friends, was to prepare you and Finch, my dog, for the real performance.”
She looked at Finch, who sat, shaking with nervous excitement. “Finch, find the tallest man in the room.” Without hesitation he ran over to Lord Jess, who was standing on one end of the semicircle of chairs. Jess made a bow to the dog and the assembled guests.
Mrs. Kendrick’s “Good dog!” brought him back to her for a reward. He sat up, accepted the treat, and then moved in a gesture that looked amazingly like a bow. The company laughed and applauded lightly.
“Finch is not a purebred but is every bit as refined in his behavior as any gentleman I know.” She glanced at Beatrice and added, “Most of the time.”
Beatrice ran her fingers over the old spectacles she was carrying in her reticule and nodded with what she hoped looked like gracious dismissal.
“Finch! Find the man who wears a red scarf.”
He arrowed straight to Lord Destry, who was not wearing his scarf this evening, and everyone applauded.
With each success Mrs. Kendrick rewarded