“Miss Jane said you wanted to see me.” Kitty strolled into Hazel’s office a few days later wearing a sprigged green gown and a surly expression. “What am I in trouble for this time?”
“Nothing.” Hazel arched a brow. “Unless you have something you’d like to confess?”
“No, no.” Kitty slouched into one of the chairs in front of the desk. “Let’s just have this conversation done with so I may move on to more important things, like organizing my ribbon drawer or watching tourists shake the sand out of their shoes.”
Hazel sat across from Kitty and folded her hands on her blotter. “I wanted to speak with you about your drawings.”
“Again? Why is everyone so obsessed with my sketchbook? Surely you and Uncle Beck have something better to do than fuss over my silly scribbles.”
The offhand mention of Blade made Hazel’s belly flutter, but she remained focused on the task at hand. “They’re not silly at all, as you well know. You have a gift, and it’s my duty to help you nurture it.”
“Let me guess.” Kitty rolled her eyes. “You’d like me to take up watercolors, or perhaps oil painting.”
“What?”
“You’d prefer me to ‘channel my energies into a more dignified and refined art form,’” she replied in an exaggerated impression of a teacher’s voice.
Hazel blinked. “Not at all. That is, there’s nothing wrong with those media if you’d like to explore them.”
“My uncle already offered to purchase any supplies I wanted. But all I really want is my sketchbook and pencils.” Kitty heaved a sigh. “Am I free to go now?”
“Not quite.” Hazel steepled her fingers beneath her chin. “I wondered if you might be interested in having a mentor.”
“You?” Kitty asked, clearly skeptical.
Hazel laughed. “Not me. Since most of your drawings are of structures, I was thinking of someone who specializes in building design—or architecture.”
Kitty narrowed her eyes, skeptical. “Who might that be?”
“There’s a good-natured, elderly gentleman in town named Mr. Sandford. He drew up the plans for Mrs. Paxton’s boardinghouse along with several other buildings here in Bellehaven. I haven’t asked him yet, but I imagine he’d be happy to show you around his shop … if you’re interested.”
“I might be,” Kitty said, noncommittal. “As long as he doesn’t expect me to sweep his floors, fetch his pipe, or pour his tea.”
“Noted,” Hazel said. “I’ll stop by his office this week to speak to him.”
Kitty tilted her head. “Do you think he’ll balk at the idea of mentoring a girl?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. But I suspect that when he sees your drawings, he’ll realize you’re a talented young woman with incredible potential.”
For several heartbeats, Kitty stared at her hands in her lap. “Thank you,” she said softly—and Hazel knew the words couldn’t have come easily.
Her chest squeezed. “You’re welcome.”
Kitty quickly composed herself and was halfway out of her chair when someone knocked on the partly open office door.
“Come in,” Hazel called, pleased to see her young protégée, Poppy, breeze into the room carrying a large basket of books on one arm.
“Good morning, Miss Lively. I’ve finished all these.” Poppy’s hair hung down her back in a riot of strawberry curls, and her freckled cheeks glowed with excitement. “You were right about the gothic novel,” she started, then drew up short when she spied Kitty. “Forgive me for intruding. I didn’t realize you were busy.”
“It’s all right,” Hazel said. “Poppy Summers, this is my newest boarding student, Kitty Beckett.”
“Nice to meet you,” Poppy said, but her expression turned wary as she set down her basket. “I’ll just leave these with you and come back another time.”
“No,” Hazel urged, “please stay. I’ve set aside several more books I think you’ll like.”
Kitty sat up in her chair, clearly intrigued by the unexpected visitor. “Are you one of Miss Lively’s former students?”
“No.” Poppy raised her chin. “Deportment lessons would have been wasted on me.”
“I feel the same way.” Kitty beamed, apparently delighted to have found a kindred spirit.
The truth was that Hazel had offered private lessons to Poppy on several occasions, but the fiery-haired young woman was several years older than most of Hazel’s students and too proud to join their ranks. Besides, it was difficult for Poppy to spare an afternoon learning a bit of conversational French when she could be working—casting her fishing nets from a small boat, taking the day’s catch to market, and keeping her family’s business afloat.
All Poppy really wanted to do in her precious spare time was to read, and Hazel was more than happy to share books with her. In turn, Poppy insisted on bringing fresh fish to Mrs. Paxton for dinner every Sunday.
Kitty’s assessing gaze flicked over Poppy’s untamed tresses and her plain cotton dress. “Do you live here in Bellehaven?”
Poppy nodded. “My family has a cottage by the sea.”
“You must be a good swimmer,” Kitty mused.
“I suppose so,” Poppy said with a shrug.
“I almost drowned during my first night in Bellehaven,” Kitty said conversationally. “I’m from London and Somerset before that.” She paused for a moment, then asked, “Have you ever been to London?”
“Only once, before my mother…” She hesitated and cleared the emotion from her throat before continuing. “It was a long time ago.”
“I lost my mother and father last year,” Kitty said, thoughtful. “It’s strange how time divides itself into before and after.”
“Yes.” Poppy stared at the wooden floorboards for a moment, then met Kitty’s gaze. “I’m sorry about your parents.”
Hazel stood back as the girls took each other’s measure. Their upbringings couldn’t have been more different, but they’d both known great loss. Moreover, both were smart, determined, and feisty.
Which made Hazel wonder if they might be able to help each other.
“I can’t stay,” Poppy said brusquely. “Thank you for the books, Miss Lively. We can discuss them another time.”
“There’s the new batch.” Hazel gestured toward the shelf where she’d set aside a dozen books. “Please take them.”
As Poppy reverently placed them in her basket, Hazel reached into a desk drawer, withdrew a wrapped bundle, and handed it to her.
“What’s this?”
The package contained one of Hazel’s lightly worn calico gowns. “Just something I thought might come in handy. I no longer have any use for it.” She didn’t want to risk bruising Poppy’s pride, especially in front of Kitty.
Poppy handed it back. “You’re too generous as it is. I can’t accept a gift.”
“It’s not a gift,” Hazel said, adamant. She tucked it into the basket alongside the books, hoping that would be the end of it.
Meanwhile, Kitty looked on, fascinated by the exchange.
“Fine,” Poppy said, resigned at last. “But I will find a way to repay you.”
“You don’t even know what it is,” Kitty exclaimed. “What if it’s something awful that nobody would want, like an embroidery hoop or a powdered wig or a pair of old slippers?”
Poppy chuckled. “I know Miss Lively too well and am certain it’s none of those things. I suspect I’ll be bringing her fish for the next decade at least.”
Kitty screwed up her face. “Fish?”
Oh dear. The last thing Hazel wanted or needed was more fish, unless—
She clasped her hands together. “I have an idea. There is a favor you could do for me if you have the time.”
“I’ll make time,” Poppy said, resolute. “What is it?”
“Teach Kitty to swim.”
“What?” said the girls in perfect unison.
Hazel crossed her arms, pleased as punch. “Kitty, what’s the point in living at a beautiful seaside resort if you can’t enjoy the water?”
“I can enjoy it from the safety of the beach, thank you very much.”
“Poppy, you spend so much time in and around the water, you must have gills,” Hazel teased.
“That doesn’t mean I’m qualified to give swimming lessons.”
“I have faith in both of you,” Hazel said firmly. “Do you want to know why?”
The girls stared at her, dumbfounded, so she continued.
“You two have something in common.”
Kitty’s doubtful gaze swept over Poppy’s plain dress and sensible boots. “What might that be?”
“The ability to do whatever you set your mind to.” Hazel brushed her palms together, signaling the matter was settled. “Poppy, under your tutelage, Kitty will be a veritable mermaid by the end of the summer.”
“Very well.” Poppy sighed as she hoisted her basket. To Kitty, she said, “Meet me at the foot of Brigand’s Bluff tomorrow at noon.”
“I shall be there,” Kitty said soberly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must go write my last will and testament in case this all ends the way I suspect it will. Miss Lively, it will be up to you to deliver the tragic news to my uncle. I wonder what he’ll say when he learns that his only niece was sacrificed to Poseidon.”
Poppy shook her head and followed Kitty out of the office, leaving Hazel alone with her thoughts—which mostly revolved around Blade.
Despite her valiant attempts to forget their magical evening, she couldn’t stop thinking about the way he’d made her feel. Desired. Understood. Almost … loved.
She knew better than to think that the earl was truly in love with her. But there was something so achingly real about their connection that she couldn’t deny it. No matter how hard she tried.
She and Blade were clearly on different paths. He needed a countess—someone to attend London balls and host lavish dinner parties. Someone to warm his bed and give him an heir. None of which would have been terribly problematic if it weren’t for one thing. One detail that he’d made crystal clear.
He didn’t want to be part of a real family. Certainly not a large, messy family comprised of destitute schoolgirls and their on-the-shelf headmistress.
It’s why she’d been opposed to seeing him again. To avoid subjecting herself to temptation and the torture of longing for what could never be. But when he’d pleaded with her, she’d been unable to resist the raw vulnerability in his eyes.
So she’d left the door open, ever so slightly, even as she’d encouraged him to forget about her and move on. Made him promise he’d try.
Already she was kicking herself for not breaking things off cleanly, once and for all, because deep in her soul, she knew that she and Blade had no future.
And yet she couldn’t help hoping that he’d prove her wrong.
“There’s something different about you tonight.” Penelope managed to convey her irritation despite her perfect, pasted-on smile.
Blade glanced down at his dance partner and feigned ignorance. “What do you mean?”
She shrugged her slender shoulders as they twirled around the dance floor, waltzing beneath a pair of sparkling chandeliers. “You’re distracted,” she said. “Here, but not here.”
Penelope was perceptive. Physically, he was in one of London’s most opulent ballrooms, with her. Mentally, he was on one of Bellehaven’s most picturesque cliffs, with Hazel.
“I’m not overly fond of balls,” he said. “Not even mildly fond of them, actually.”
“Yes, what a hardship,” she said dryly, “to have to endure an evening of dancing, champagne, and merriment.”
“Your point is taken,” he acknowledged. “I have no right to complain. In fact, I’m probably the envy of every man here.” It was true enough. Any one of the ton’s eligible bachelors would love to have Penelope on his arm.
She looked at him from beneath a thick fringe of lashes, clearly pleased by his admission. “Then we are still proceeding according to plan?”
Damn it. He’d planned to speak to Penelope tonight—but not on the dance floor while dozens of pairs of eyes looked on. “Could we talk later?” he asked.
Her blue eyes narrowed. “We’ll go to the terrace now,” she said pointedly. “If anyone asks, I am in need of some air.”
He nodded and swiftly escorted her toward the French doors at the rear of the room, eager to have the matter off his chest. Penelope was bound to be displeased, but it wasn’t as though feelings were involved on either side. Perhaps she’d even be relieved.
They stepped into the cool evening air, crossed the flagstone terrace, and stood beside an iron balustrade overlooking the garden. She folded her arms, then looked at him, expectant.
“I’ve been thinking about our courtship,” he began.
“Who is she?” Penelope said, matter-of-factly.
Blade blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
“The woman who’s turned your head.”
He opened his mouth to deny the charge, then stopped. He owed Penelope the truth. “Someone I met in Bellehaven.”
“And you intend to court her?” There was no censure or bitterness in her voice—only curiosity.
He shook his head. “She doesn’t want to see me.”
Penelope arched an elegant brow. “I confess I’m surprised. You’re wealthy, attractive, titled,” she said, ticking off the traits on her fingers. “And she wants more?”
He could still see Hazel’s beautiful face glowing in the moonlight. Could hear the passion in her voice as she talked about her school, her dreams, her desire to belong to a family.
“She wants more,” he repeated flatly.
Penelope nodded, thoughtful. “Then there’s no reason our courtship shouldn’t proceed.”
He scrubbed the back of his neck. “That wouldn’t be fair to you.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m not the sentimental sort, Bladenton, and neither are you. It’s what makes us perfect for each other.”
Blade frowned. “You could do better than me, Penelope.”
“Perhaps,” she mused. “But I have decided upon you.”
“Why?” He wasn’t fishing for compliments, but rather, the truth.
“I would rather not divulge the particulars. Let us just say that you are the safe choice for me. Just as I am for you.”
He stared at the lush garden, pondering what Penelope had said. In the distance, leaves rustled, frogs croaked, and insects buzzed. He wished he could snap his fingers and trade the sounds for the roar of the ocean.
“You need a wife,” Penelope continued, “whether you want one or not. This woman in Bellehaven—does she expect you to wait for her? Pine for her endlessly?”
“No.” That was the hell of it. “She wants me to forget about her. Move on.”
“Then you should take her at her word. Respect her wishes.”
Blade had come to the same depressing conclusion as he’d lain awake in bed. He and Hazel could only end in heartbreak. And the last thing in the world he wanted was for her to feel the hurt and misery that he had. He would spare her that—no matter the cost.
He dragged a hand down his face. “You might be right.”
“Of course I am,” Penelope said, utterly confident. “This is precisely why you need me, Bladenton. I can steer you in the right direction. I can tolerate your demons. And most important, I will never ask you for more than you can give.”
“I need a little time,” he said.
“There are still a few weeks left in the summer.” Penelope smoothed the icy-blue skirt of her dress and placed her hands on her hips. “I’m certain all will end as it should—with you and I betrothed.”
With that, she turned on her heel and headed for the ballroom doors, leaving him alone on the terrace, her words echoing in his head.