Nothing. No reaction. Her eyes could have been marble for all the response they showed. She turned away to speak to another guest.
Beau casually shifted his gaze. Either she was tragically purblind, or she didn’t wish to know him—most likely the latter. She’d sent him three letters, and had been so eager to meet with him she’d chastised him for burning the first two. Now she mysteriously appeared at his family’s country home and didn’t acknowledge him? What was she up to?
The gentleman on the other side of Miss Winfield leaned around her and groused, “I don’t know why they continue to invite that crazy woman. She is positively off her nut, insulting Viscount Falgate that way.” The man shook his head and wrinkled his nose distastefully. “The stories I could tell you about her.”
“Why is she here?” Beau responded.
“I don’t know. Ask your brother. It’s his party.”
Beau eased back into his chair. Fascinating. At the pleasure gardens C.C. had looked like a trade woman or possibly a governess. Her note asked him to meet her at a time when a proper, respectable woman would have long since departed. Now she looked like a goddess and sat disparaging a viscount at an earl’s dinner table.
Was she a Union spy as he’d suspected? And what about her business opportunity? Had it been truthful or was she ‘off her nut,’ like the fellow said? For certain, the woman was unsettling. But dear God, what a beauty, and by the way she tempted his reckless side, a lot could be forgiven.
At the conclusion of dinner, he waited for her in the hallway. When she exited, he stepped in front of her and bowed. “Hello again, madam.”
She quickly looked behind her. Lord Falgate lingered in the doorway talking to another guest. “Not now,” she muttered under her breath. “Excuse me sir,” she announced louder and held her frothy bell-shaped skirt to edge around Beau.
Her curt dismissal only tweaked his curiosity more. Could it be she didn’t want Lord Falgate or someone else to know she and Beau were acquainted? Was she married after all? He almost followed her down the hallway, but her strange behavior made him reconsider. It might be wise to first get the lay of the land. He turned the opposite direction and made his way to the billiard room.
While several men racked up balls and began a game, Beau savored two glasses of his brother’s fine brandy and walked around admiring the room’s redecorating. Any hopes of turning in early for a long night’s rest would have to wait.
He stopped at a side table to gaze at a familiar bottle. As a boy he’d spent untold hours studying its contents. Oh, what dreams that miniature East India tea clipper had conjured. How carefully he’d measured, drawn and redrawn the vessel inside. It had been the genesis of his ship designs.
Two small paintings of his father and mother hung on the wall behind. Both had dark eyes and hair. He’d never known his mother. The answer to who he really was died at his birth.
Thomas approached, slapped him on the back and offered him a cigar from the box he carried. “Thank you for these excellent Havanas, little brother. I do so enjoy a good cigar.”
“You’re very welcome,” Beau replied. “And happy birthday.”
His brother set the cigar box on the table while a diligent footman refilled both their brandy glasses and lit their cigars.
Beau took several satisfying puffs and gazed at his father’s picture. He could almost hear the old man growl, “When it comes to mischief, you’ve not lived a life of missed opportunities.” Now his motto, he’d spent his life challenging the words ‘no’ and ‘forbidden.’ Though the rewards had filled his pockets with gold, the risks had finally taken their toll.
“I wonder how many of my little hellions will take after the old man?” Thomas mused.
Glancing at his brother and then at his father’s picture on the wall, Beau responded, “If memory serves, eleven generations in the portrait gallery would say they’d all resemble him.”
His brother took a long puff and blew smoke out between his teeth, grinning. “We haven’t announced it officially, but it appears we’ll be adding to the nursery in another six months or so.”
A cloud of grief threatened to engulf Beau.
He arranged a smile on his face and concentrated on deploying proper vowels and consonants. “Congratulations. I never would have thought domesticity would suit you, but I see you flourish in it.”
“Thank you. If I should be so bold, you might discover advantages in the situation as well. Thomas lowered his voice and leaned in. “Money is important, of course. I was fortunate to find a woman I couldn’t live without who brought a pot of money to the earldom. But more importantly, finding the right woman and settling down to make a family has many hidden benefits. I dare say it’s what life is all about.”
A familiar ache tormented his heart. I’m sorry, Millie…my darling Freddie.
Beau had once considered such a life. His irresponsible, unreliable streak made it impossible. If a woman wanted someone steadfast, she’d best look elsewhere. Still, he could play along and worked to keep his smile in place. “I did take note Lady Grancliffe is on a mission to help me with that very thing.”
“Ah, my lovely wife. As soon as she realized you were thirty she evaluated her friends and acquaintances and came up with a ‘must introduce’ list.”
“Is the lovely young woman in the elegant lavender gown on the list?”
His brother looked confused. Then he winced. “Do you mean our Auntie Cali?”
“Is that her name?”
“That’s what the children call their favorite relative. I suspect some replace the Auntie with a less flattering title,” he muttered and then cleared his throat. “Her name is Miss Calista Caroline Collins.”
“She’s quite possibly the most exquisite woman I’ve ever seen. Maybe you or your lady wife could introduce us.”
Thomas frowned and puffed on his cigar. “No, not Miss Collins.”
Beau blinked, surprised. “Since you call her ‘Miss,’ she’s unmarried? Is she attached?”
His brother pursed his lips and motioned to the footman for an ashtray. Both tapped off their ash and waited for the footman to leave.
Thomas gave Beau a pointed look. “You’d best steer clear of her, dear brother. She’s one of Lady Grancliffe’s relatives from New York City—first cousin, don’t you know.” He puffed on his cigar and then studied it as he seemed to consider his words. “Miss Collins created some kind of unforgivable scandal in New York City. Her parents were all too eager to park her somewhere. Poor girl had a tough time of it. Kept to her bed for months.”
“Was she ill?”
“Doctors said severe melancholia. One even thought her a lost cause, urged us to commit her to a French institution. My wife and Mrs. Arnold, my mother-in-law, wouldn’t hear of it. Mrs. A. determined diversion the best medicine and took her on a tour of the continent. Miss Collins eventually got better. But she’s fragile—some say she’s touched in the head.”
Beau blew smoke rings around his cigar as he considered his brother’s story versus the compassion and strength of will he’d seen in C.C. at Cremorne. So his wife’s wealthy family was clothing and sheltering a poor, cast-off relation? “It’s very generous of you and your wife’s family to take her in. I would think with your status and position you could find her someone.”
His brother bit down on his cigar and growled, “She’s not the kind of relative one readily acknowledges. The newspapers are filled with reports on England’s plague of insanity. We don’t want it put about we imported one.”
“I would