The Perks of Being a Beauty (3 page)

“Grace,” he said simply. “She’s eight years old. Very inquisitive. Actually she reminds me a bit of you at that age.”

Amelia laughed and it was such a pure sound that he found himself smiling widely. “Poor girl,” she said with a shake of her head. “I cannot wish that number of scraped knees and torn pinafores on anyone.”

“Well, she doesn’t scrape her knees quite as often as you did,” he said with a grin. “But she’s quite good at climbing trees. Even better than you, I daresay.”

“Then you certainly have your hands full,” she said with a smile.

A silence fell, and it was surprising to Quentin how comfortable it felt. As if they were simply two friends reminiscing, without the misunderstandings of the past between them.

“My hands have also been rather full with something much more scandalous,” he said finally. “I feel sure Mrs. Smithson would not be best pleased.”

“I sincerely doubt that,” Amelia said with a laugh. “You could probably commit murder in the middle of her drawing room and she would find some way of excusing you for it. She is quite impressed with your title, I’m afraid.”

“Well, this is hardly as dire as that,” he said, grinning. “I’ve simply become involved in
trade
.” His pronunciation of the word in a stage whisper made Amelia laugh again.

“Oh that,” she said with a wave of her hand. “I don’t think that would diminish you in her eyes. Though for my own sake, I’m curious to know what sort of trade. Surely you haven’t set up shop somewhere.”

“No, I’ve been investigating some mills in the north which Mr. Smithson owns, and considering a few purchases. I am a younger son, after all, and can’t simply rely on the proceeds from the home farms to keep myself in boots and cravats.”

Amelia was curious. “How does one even begin with such a thing?”

“My wife’s father was an industrialist in America so I learned a great deal of it from him. And I’ve spent much of my time since returning to England investigating the possibilities here.”

She would have asked him more, but they were interrupted by Mrs. Smithson. Irritated to see her daughter’s companion monopolizing the only titled gentleman at their gathering, she drifted forward, like a ship coasting into port.

“Miss Snowe, I believe Harriet requires you to fetch her shawl from her bedchamber,” the pinch-faced woman said, her ostrich feather bobbing up and down as she emphasized her words. “My apologies for neglecting you, my lord,” she said to Quentin, linking her arm in his and pulling him across the room. He tried to catch Amelia’s eye before Mrs. Smithson hurried him away, but Amelia was, unfortunately, once again in companion mode and did not look up before she disappeared from the room.

“Some people simply do not know their place,” Mrs. Smithson said with pursed lips. “I assure you that we are not in the habit of encouraging the hired help to mix with our guests. But the numbers were off and, well, I suppose you understand.”

Since he was the one who’d upset Mrs. Smithson’s numbers, Quentin certainly did understand. But he could not help but dislike the woman for her attitude toward Amelia. It was clear the woman gloried in the fact that she could criticize the great
ton
beauty with impunity. He might, at his most morose, have wished Amelia might be put in her place, but he now found that seeing it up close was not to his liking at all. He wanted to rescue her from the bloody woman.

Realizing what he’d just thought, he gave himself a mental shake. What he and Amelia had shared had been years ago. And even then she’d rejected him outright. It would hardly be prudent to set himself up as her rescuer now when they hadn’t even seen one another in years. They were veritable strangers for all that it felt like days since they’d parted. And he had been wronged by her, he reminded himself. If he knew Amelia, she was unfazed by Mrs. Smithson’s ill manners, and he should keep well out of it else he’d find himself in the same place as before—madly in love with nothing to show for it but a broken heart.

His composure restored, he allowed Mrs. Smithson to guide him through the drawing room, taking especial care to be charming to all the other ladies of the party. It would do Amelia no harm to see that he was well and truly over her.

Chapter Two

Amelia avoided speaking any further with Quentin when she returned to the drawing room with Harriet’s shawl. She’d known the errand had been a pretext for Mrs. Smithson to warn her noble guest off further conversation with Amelia. And she was fine with that. Or at least she told herself to be fine with it. Her situation now was far more precarious than she’d ever experienced. And though nostalgia and a lingering sense of the friendship they’d once shared might urge her to spend more time with him, her need to remain employed to keep a roof over her head urged her to stay away.

Thus it was when the next morning found the assembled party gathered in the drawing room at the behest of Mrs. Smithson, Amelia seated herself in a chair in the corner and bent studiously over her darning, not daring to so much as glance Quentin’s way.

“Attention, ladies and gentlemen,” Mrs. Smithson trilled. “I do hope that you will give me your attention for just a moment,” she went on, her rather protuberant eyes falling on Mr. Carstairs and Miss Delaford who were whispering furtively on the settee. “I need all of your attention, please,” she said sharply to the malefactors, who looked sheepish and ceased their conversation. “Excellent,” Mrs. Smithson said with a nod. “Now, ladies and gentlemen, we will be indulging in any number of amusements this week, including a trip to our local ruin, and a trip into the village for some shopping.”

Though only months ago she’d have found the prospect of a shopping trip in the village of Thwaite to be a dead bore, Amelia had been cooped up long enough with the Smithsons to think it sounded like heaven.

“Before we embark on these excitements, however,” Mrs. Smithson continued, “I must first introduce you to the main entertainment with which you shall occupy yourself over the course of the week.”

She paused, and surveyed the assembled guests, including her daughter and Amelia and the late-arrived Lord Quentin, with the benign eye of an indulgent queen watching her subjects. “We are to have a scavenger hunt!” she announced, and even had the temerity to clap her hands, which Amelia thought was a bit much even for one such as Mrs. Smithson.

But Amelia had perhaps misjudged the jaded nature of the house party guests, for the ladies and, even to a lesser degree, the gentlemen seemed to exhibit a gratifying degree of excitement at the idea. For the veriest moment, she allowed herself to steal a glance at Lord Quentin who was seated alone in the corner opposite Amelia’s. To her surprise he was looking her way, one brow raised and a quirk in his lips that echoed her own amusement at the collective enthusiasm. Before she could get pulled into his orbit, Amelia looked back down at her mending. But the quick tattoo of her heart reminded her of just how exciting and dangerous it was to be the recipient of such a gaze.

“I have here,” the hostess said, holding up a very heavy crystal bowl, “written on a bit of foolscap, the name of each lady assembled here. Excluding of course, myself, for I am far too old for such frivolity. And because dear Lord Fortescue’s arrival played havoc with my numbers, I have been forced to add Harriet’s companion, Miss Snowe, to the bowl. My apologies, but it could not be helped.”

Could the woman be any ruder? Amelia wondered, noticing with sympathy Harriet’s flushed cheeks at her mother’s ill-manners. She had to admit that the continual slights stung, but it was nothing worse than she herself had done to countless other girls during her time in London. If her former victims were to see her now, she felt sure they’d applaud.

Except for the former Ugly Ducklings, of course. Cecily, Juliet, and Maddie were far too good natured to rejoice in someone else’s suffering. And thanks to their generosity, she could now count them as friends. Which was more than she’d ever be able to say about Mrs. Smithson.

“Gentlemen,” Mrs. Smithson said, “I will ask each of you to choose a paper from this bowl and whichever lady you draw will be your partner in the scavenger hunt.”

“If you have any questions about the writing,” Harriet said, with a simper, “just ask me. For I’m the one who wrote them all out.”

“So, gentlemen,” Mrs. Smithson added, “pass the bowl among yourselves.”

Within minutes the couples were paired off. Only Lord Quentin and Amelia were left remaining.

“My apologies for the lack of a suitable partner for you, my lord,” Mrs. Smithson said to him with what Amelia knew was genuine unhappiness over the slight. “If only my husband had told me you were coming…” She hovered unhappily next to him as he removed the last slip of paper—which had Amelia’s name scrawled upon it—from the crystal bowl.

“Do not trouble yourself over the matter, Mrs. Smithson, I pray you,” Quentin said, nodding to Amelia as she stepped forward. “I feel sure that Miss Snowe and I will work well together. Will we not, Miss Snowe?”

Noting the glint of amusement in his eyes, Amelia found herself smiling and nodded. It
did
feel rather good to be setting Mrs. Smithson’s nose out of joint so spectacularly. She was quite sure that the hostess had preselected which couples would work together for the duration of the hunt.

“Indeed, my lord,” she said, careful to keep her expression cool and detached lest the other woman realize just how much Amelia was enjoying her discomfiture. “We shall rub along well enough, I think.”

“See that you do, Miss Snowe,” Mrs. Smithson said with a frown. “For I will not be pleased if I hear that Lord Quentin is not made as comfortable as possible during his stay. It will take you from your duties to Harriet, but I suppose it can’t be helped. Though I daresay you can handle both if you manage your time wisely.”

“My dear Mrs. Smithson,” Quentin said, turning to give her the full effect of his charm, “surely for the duration of the party Miss Snowe might be allowed to participate in the festivities. Your daughter seems well able to behave herself without having Miss Snowe hover over her at every turn.”

Amelia could see the other woman warring within herself. On the one hand, she did not wish to displease Lord Quentin Fortescue, but on the other hand she wanted to take advantage of Amelia’s expertise while the house was full of eligible young gentlemen.

Unwilling to displease the lady any further, Amelia spoke up. “I believe I will be quite able to do both, Mrs. Smithson. Indeed, the scavenger hunt is only one portion of the week’s entertainment. When we are not working on it, I can devote myself to Harriet’s needs.”

Mrs. Smithson’s eyes shone with approval. “Excellent, Miss Snowe. I will hold you to it. Now, I will leave the two of you to look over your scavenger hunt clue.”

And just as quickly as she had borne down upon them, she drifted away again, interjecting herself into ongoing conversations as she went.

They had conducted this discussion in the corner of the room, far from earshot of the other couples who had wandered into the adjoining rooms to discuss strategy and to indulge in whatever little flirtations the chance for uninterrupted tête-à-têtes might afford. Now, however, they had begun to wander back and conscious of the curious eyes on them, Amelia stood, intending to go to Harriet’s side. But she was forestalled by Harriet’s appearance at her side, her partner, Mr. Carstairs, trailing after her.

“Amelia,” she said, her cheeks pink with excitement, “do you recall which of the village shops it was that carried the ribbons in that becoming shade of cherry red? I was not sure if it was Mrs. Minton’s dress shop or the Mercantile.”

“I believe it was Minton’s,” Amelia told the girl, draping her mending bag over her arm.

“Excellent!” Harriet said with a grin. Then in an undertone she added, “I hope you won’t rush there first and buy it all up. I know Mama said that she ordered the clues differently for each couple, but I cannot help but fear that someone else will get there first.” Then her nose wrinkled and she frowned. “But where is your clue? Do you not have one yet?”

“I’m afraid not, Miss Smithson,” Lord Quentin said with a smile for the girl. “We have only now established that Miss Snowe will be my partner. I suppose we are quite behind and must make haste to catch up.” Then he added in a lowered voice, “But I give you my word that we will not buy up all the red ribbons from Minton’s.”

“Oh thank you, my lord,” Harriet said, a pretty blush suffusing her cheeks. Amelia watched the interchange with a twinge of something like jealousy. Though she knew that was impossible since it had been years since she’d felt anything at all for Quentin. Even so, she could not help but wonder what her life would be like should he take a fancy to Harriet.

She’d be let go, of course, that was inevitable. But she would also be forced to accept the fact that someone she knew, rather than some faceless entity was married to him. And that would be dreadful indeed. Harriet’s next words, however, made her feel foolish for the direction of her thoughts. “I am hoping to persuade Mr. Carstairs to accompany me there this afternoon while the others are resting.”

It was clear from her blush that she was sweet on the fellow. Which Amelia well knew since she’d talked of nothing else for weeks now. Feeling like a fool, she asked, “Harriet, do you have a clue for us?”

“Of course! I almost forgot!” Harriet turned to her partner who had remained silent up to now. “Mr. Carstairs, do give Lord Quentin the clue. I told you someone would claim it if we held fast to it.”

As Amelia watched, Quentin took the page from the other man. “Miss Snowe,” he said, his eyes boring into hers in that way he had of making her feel completely defenseless. “Shall we look over our clue?”

Deciding they may as well get started, Amelia allowed him to lead her into the sitting room next door, which was now deserted, the rest of the company having begun the hunt in earnest.

“I apologize for the awkwardness of our pairing,” she told her companion as they wandered toward the windows overlooking the gardens beyond. “You would, I think, have been happier to be with one of the other, livelier girls.”