star.” Crenshaw spoke as though he had been there.
“No, my lord, it was not.” Her voice was filled with such urgency that the man started in surprise. “It moved in an uneven pattern, up and down and east to west, then west to east. It grew larger as it came closer to the field in which I stood. Finally, it chose a spot and settled to the ground.”
She had the complete attention of everyone at the table. Beatrice half smiled at the footmen standing at service. They had lost their usual air of indifference. Indeed they were more wide-eyed than the dinner guests.
“What happened next?” Destry prompted.
“I don’t know. I ran away.” She covered her mouth for a moment. “You see, I did not want to know.”
“Every time you tell that story it grows more strange.” Mrs. Wilson was trying to look amused but was not very successful, her eyes darting from one guest to the next to see what they thought.
“But I have only told this story once before, Mama, and that was to you and Papa,” Miss Wilson whispered, her discomfort growing.
“I think it was no more than a very vivid dream.” Mrs. Wilson ignored her daughter’s comment and spoke to the others.
“Undoubtedly a dream, and women have such vivid imaginations.” Lord Crenshaw made it sound like imagination was a terrible weakness. Beatrice was seeing a new side to him this evening—one that had little appeal for her.
“If it was a dream, Miss Wilson, then you have the beginnings of a fine novel yourself.” Lord Belmont looked thoughtful. “But there have been other such reports in different parts of the country and even the world.”
Conversation exploded among the group, as the company considered Belmont’s words.
“What do you think of that, Miss Brent?” Lord Jess asked, leaning close, which she appreciated, for she did not wish Lord Crenshaw to hear her answer.
She could see the brown streaks in his blond hair, his surprisingly long eyelashes and blue eyes that were almost always lit with a smile. What was his question? She could not quite recall.
“I’m fascinated,” she said finally, hoping it was an adequate answer.
“Do you think Miss Wilson’s night visitor could have been from another world?” He did not move closer but his serviette slipped and his effort to grab it brought his face next to hers.
“Are you implying that there are worlds we have yet to discover here on earth?” She moved a little away from him, trying to decide if he was flirting, then reminded herself that she and Roger had proved that a man and woman could carry on an intelligent conversation without it being called a flirtation. “Or do you just wish to prove that women are subject to absurd conjecture?”
“Never. That is Crenshaw’s area of expertise.” He spoke without looking up, settling his serviette on his lap and taking up his fork.
Yes, she thought. There was a difference between his testing, or was it teasing, behavior and Lord Crenshaw’s imperious statements.
Beatrice nibbled on some chicken, while she watched Lord Jess handle his fork. His fingers were long and elegant, with short and brutally clean nails. It was only in contrast to the white of his shirt cuffs that she noticed how bronzed his skin was, as though he spent more time than most in the saddle or not wearing gloves.
“Miss Brent,” he began again, “I think we have discovered all intelligent life on this planet. But what about the other planets in our solar system? Or in our universe? My brother David is a man of science and the thought of life from beyond our world fascinates him.”
“I have never heard that idea before.” She still wondered if he was teasing her. “Dealing with this world is enough of a challenge. Look at the damage Napoleon caused, and even at peace there is enough dissent here in England to demand all our attention. No, we do not need visitors from beyond our world.”
“Perhaps Miss Wilson’s visitors feel the same way, for they have not made themselves known in a general way, have they?”
“Do you think Miss Wilson truly saw something from another planet?”
“No, I do not. I think it was some comet or meteor. I think she was upset by the death of her grandfather. There are any number of explanations much more sensible than a visitor from the stars.”
Beatrice could not have said why she felt relieved by Lord Jess’s certainty but she did. Or maybe it was only because she recognized