Page 1 of Kiss Me Lady One More Time
Chapter 1
Village of Rockwell
Gloucestershire, England
“Ithink the bees have the right of it,” Mary Davies said as she grasped the top of the bee skep.
“Hold a moment.” Miss Penelope Munroe held up a pierced metal can. “Let me spread a bit more smoke.” She whirled the smoking can around the hole at the bottom of the skep, before leaving a thick cloud around the cap. “What do bees have right?” she asked absently.
“I read that study you gave me,” Mary said. “According to Monsieur Huber, the queen bee doesn’t marry. She flies away, meets up with her mates, collects what she needs, then comes back to rule the hive alone.”
Penelope bit back a grin. She kept sending more smoke between them as Mary worked to remove the sticky bars and frames from the top of the skep. She handed over the new set and kept the smoke moving while it was installed. “Is that what you wish for, Mary?” Penelope asked as they loaded the honey-rich frame into a basket. “To rule your own hive?”
“I’d like a hive—a place—all to myself, ’struth,” the girl sighed.
Penelope nodded. An only child herself, she occasionally suffered a pang of envy at the thought of siblings, but Mary was one of seven children, all squashed into a small cottage at the edge of the village. It was a downgrade in circumstance that occurred after the death of her father, a carpenter in Rockwell. None of her family had reconciled to the situation. “Is your mother pressing you to give an answer to Mr. Bell?” Carefully, she helped the girl replace the cap on the skep.
“Yes,” answered Mary glumly. “Ever since Susan married her Georgie, there’s been naught to make Ma happy, ’cept the idea of marryin’ me off next. I don’t blame Susan,” she said with a sigh. “She’s happy as a pig in mud.” Leaving the open shelves that held their hives, the girls retreated to the small shed nearby. Folding the long coats, they removed their veiled, straw hats and hung them away for the next time. “But I don’t want to marry John Bell, even though he does have a good position at the quarry and might make foreman one day.” She frowned. “I don’t want to marry anyone.”
Penelope doused the embers in the smoke can and emptied the contents. She knew the girl was uncomfortable around most people and men in particular. So did Mary’s mother. But the odds of the girl turning down an eligible match when her family was in such straits were small. It was one reason why she had asked Mary to help with this project. Together, they had learned to coil straw and build the skeps, and how to use the frames in a separate, top chamber to collect honey without destroying the colony. She’d asked the girl to clean and filter the honey, so that she could also allow her to sell the finished product. Wherever Mary ended up, Penelope wished her to have a bit of independence, and something of her own.
“I just never met a fellow I wanted to snuggle and kiss the way Susan does with Georgie. And without all that, what’s marriage but more drudgery for a different taskmaster? And with no one to help lighten the load.” She sighed as they set out along the lane that would take them to her family’s cottage.
Penelope had no answer. She knew she was in the generally enviable position of wanting for herself what her parents wanted for her. In broad terms, at least.
In the specifics of it all, however, there were a good many differences.
Her father, solid and comfortable in his position of a gentleman of the landed gentry, wished to give her a Season in London. He wanted her to find a man of at least a similar situation, one who would adore and indulge her, as he did his own wife. If she found him in the ranks of the peerage, so much the better.
Penelope’s mother, a noted eccentric, an avid student of botany and a botanical illustrator of some renown, wanted someone who would respect her daughter’s intellect and encourage her interest in the natural sciences. Highly doubtful that such a specimen could be found in theton, she’d begun to invite scholars in her field for short visits, hoping to spark a match and pre-empt a trip to London.
“Have you?” Mary’s question startled her.
“Have I what?”
“Found someone. You know, someone you . . . sparked with.”
She had. Indeed, she had.
Mr. Barrett Sterne’s status as heir to a baron would please her father. His studies and scholarship would, perhaps, satisfy her mother. Oh, and there were sparks aplenty between them to make Mary happy.
But there were so very many other things about him that set Penelope ablaze. His kindness. His conversation. The quick wit that never failed to delight her. The way his smile shone over his whole face and left tiny lines at the corners of his eyes. And the heat that burrowed beneath her skin when he gazed at her, so intensely focused.
“Miss Munroe!” Mary sounded scandalized. “You have!”
“Don’t be silly.” Penelope waved a hand and took the heavy basket from the girl. “We must focus on what is important. Finding you steady customers for your honey comes first to mind. As does the idea of approaching Mr. Thomkins. I know the secrets of the honeyed mead he serves at his tavern have come down through the generations of his family, but surely they must include actual honey.”
“Oh, I could never ask him to buy our honey!”
“Nonsense. You aspire to run a honey business. You must conquer your fear.”
Mary still looked horrified.
“Very well. Perhaps you could approach the new Mrs. Thomkins instead. She is new to the village and would likely be happy to make your acquaintance.”
The girl shook her head. “She’s even more frightening than he! I heard her dressing down the butcher, with my own ears. She told him the price he charged for a side of bacon was criminal, and he’d be hanged for it back in Stonehouse, where she came from.”
“She is likely just an inventive haggler.” Penelope frowned. “And if that is the case, then perhaps I should approach her first.” She held the frown, thinking as they walked. “Perhaps I’ll take her a jar as a gift. I can extol the virtues of your honey and offer to ask you to give her a special price, should she choose to order from you.”
