“I thought we could host a small supper to welcome Lady Beatrice and get better acquainted. I should like to catch up with Violet as well. And Tessa, of course—I didn’t mean to forget her.” Charmingly flustered, Mrs. Garrity said in a confiding tone to Kent, “It’s just that your wife and I visit all the time, so there’s less to catch up on, although I’m sure we could chat for hours anyway. Or at leastIcould. Tessa is such a dear for listening to me prattle on.”
“My wife enjoys each and every visit with you, ma’am,” Kent said.
Mrs. Garrity flushed with pleasure. “That’s ever so kind of you to say, sir.”
“When is this supper?” This came from her husband, who now looked resigned.
“Oh, didn’t I mention it? This evening, eight o’clock,” she said brightly. “The Carlisles said they were free, and strike while the iron’s hot, as they say. I hope you and Tessa can make it, Mr. Kent?”
Kent looked like he was trying not to laugh. “Tessa and I will be there.”
“Splendid.” Beaming, she tipped her head at Wick. “Mr. Murray?”
He was enjoying the turn of events almost as much as Garrity’s annoyed stare.
Taking Mrs. Garrity’s hand, Wick kissed her knuckles gallantly. “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
26
It had been an altogetherbizarre day, Bea thought over supper that evening.
After the confrontation with Garrity, Wick had escorted her downstairs to the carriage where the Carlisles awaited her. No sooner had Wick left then another carriage pulled up behind them, a pretty redhead descending. Violet had shrieked, “Gabby!” out the window and bounded out, she and the newcomer greeting each other with unabashed delight.
Carlisle had met Bea’s startled gaze.
“Mrs. Garrity,” he’d said by way of explanation. “She and Violet are old friends.”
Violet had tugged her friend over to make the introductions, and Beatrice had been more than a little surprised that this lovely lady—who positively radiated kindness—was the wife of the calculating businessman she’d met upstairs. Before she knew it, Mrs. Garrity had invited her and the Carlisles over to her home that evening, with a merry, “I shan’t take no for an answer!”
Thus, Bea presently found herself in the Garritys’ home, a mansion of understated opulence. The dining room was paneled in dark wood, gilt-framed portraits on the walls. The table had been immaculately set: against the backdrop of snowy linen, silver gleamed and crystal sparkled, elegant floral arrangements adding color and fragrance to the ambiance.
Bea had been seated next to her hostess, in the place of honor. Wick was on the other side of Gabby…which was what Mrs. Garrity insisted Bea should call her. Mr. Garrity presided over the other end of the table, flanked by the Carlisles, and the Kents took up the middle.
Tessa Kent, Harry’s wife, was another surprise. Since Wick had given Beatrice a primer on the party guests, Bea knew that Kent’s wife wielded significant clout in London’s underworld and held the honorary title of “Duchess of Covent Garden” for the territory she oversaw. That was unusual, to say the least. In her head, Bea had pictured Mrs. Kent as an Amazon, a fierce female warrior with a larger-than-life presence.
In reality, Tessa Kent was an elfin beauty with large jade eyes and curly raven hair fashionably coiffed. Her grass-green silk gown showed off her petite figure, her waist accentuated by a diamond-studded ceinture. She was possessed of a lively, roguish temperament that was an amusing foil to her husband’s scholarly earnestness.
Supper was being servedà la russe, and as the liveried footmen put the oyster course in front of each guest, Gabby leaned over and said, “May I ask what jeweler you use, Beatrice? Your brooch is ever so divine.”
Bea brushed her fingers over the jewelry pinned to the neckline of her azure satin gown. Wick had presented it to her before they’d left for supper, saying it was a belated birthday gift. Fashioned of gold, the brooch took the form of a butterfly, its body made up of large, sparkling diamonds, its wings glittering with sapphires ranging in hue from deep blue to rare lavender.
Emotion had welled in Bea. It was the finest gift anyone had given her. Yet for some reason, she’d felt obliged to protest that it was too much, that she couldn’t accept such an extravagant present. Her refusal had almost turned into an argument until Wick had shushed her with a kiss. The kiss had raged out of control, which was why they’d nearly been late for supper. Glancing at him now, she saw from the lazy glow in his eyes that he, too, was recalling those steamy moments.
To her hostess, she replied softly, “Thank you, it was a gift. And I was admiring your ensemble. Your bracelets, in particular, are stunning.”
Gabby looked ravishing in a crimson taffeta gown which bared her shoulders and clung to her lush curves. She had on a pair of unusual bracelets, one at each wrist, bands of delicate gold filigree studded with diamonds and rubies.
“Mr. Garrity commissioned them from a goldsmith in Florence,” Gabby said as she lovingly touched the cuffs.
From the opposite end of the table, Mr. Garrity was watching his lady with a dark, slightly predatory gaze, and the charged look that passed between the two made Bea’s heart skip a beat. As different as man and wife were, the strength of their bond was palpable. Indeed, the same could be said of all the couples present. It seemed that everyone at the table had found passionate love matches.
Bea looked at Wick and felt a hard tug on her own bonds of attraction. The way the man filled out his evening clothes ought to be a sin. He was conversing with Kent, who was expounding upon techniques to increase the efficiency of locomotive steam engines. Other men might have glazed over as Kent went on about his experiments with various fuel sources, but Wick listened intently, asking keen questions that had Kent taking out a notebook and jotting down notes.
“Most men wax poetic about horses and the hunt.” The remark came from Tessa Kent, who sat to the right of Bea. “My husband is fascinated with coal.”
Since Wick had alluded to his partner’s interest, Bea smiled. “Having an interest is healthy, is it not?”
“Trust me, it’s more than an interest,” Mrs. Kent said. “It’s his obsession.”
