Page 10 of Never Kiss a Scot
“Do you believe in perfect kisses, Mrs. Copeland?” she asked.
It was something she dared not ask her mother. Regina Lennox was a lovely woman, Joanna admitted that readily, but the idea of asking her mother about such things seemed terrifying. Her mother would likely question her fiercely as to what she meant by asking and whether there was a gentleman out there whom Ashton should be bring to heel as a husband.
“Perfect kisses?” Mrs. Copeland’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Have you been kissing some young buck, Miss Joanna?”
“I…no,” she lied. “I was just thinking about them, you know. It’s not as though I have a beau with whom to practice.”
“Practice?” The cook snorted. “’Tis only the men who needpractice. If the kiss isn’t perfect, blame the man, I say.”
There was no blame she could give at all to Brock. His kisseswereperfect. And that was exactly the problem.
“Mrs. Copeland, did you marry Mr. Copeland for love?” The cook’s late husband had been the head groom for their horses in the country. After his passing, Ashton had insisted on the cook traveling with them. Joanna had suspected it was because Mrs. Copeland missed her husband and the country house reminded her of him almost everywhere.
“Love? My Albert? Lord no, not at first. He was simply a handsome lad with straight legs, dark hair, and all his teeth. And when he smiled,” the cook said with a sigh, “I fairly turned to a pot of butter melting in the sun.” Mrs. Copeland added, her tone softer, “Love, though, that came after.” Her eyes crinkled at the corners as she smiled.
Joanna clung to the words. “Love came after?” Could it be possible to marry someone and let love follow? She believed it might be possible for her, but she wasn’t sure if Brock could fall in love with her in return.
“When I was young, I married ’cause I had to in order to support my younger siblings since my parents were dead. Albert was strong, had a good position with your family, and your mother and father had no issue with their cook being married to their groom. It was a match that suited everyone. Albert was handsome, as I said, and it made bedding pleasurable. But it was the small things that came later, the things you may not notice at first, mind you, where he began to show his love for me, and I for him.”
Joanna took another bite of her tart, fixated on Mrs. Copeland. “What kind of small things?”
The cook sipped her sherry. “He would sneak into our room before I was done in the kitchens and have a footwarmer under the sheets, and he’d have a fine fire lit to keep our room warm in the winter. I used to make sure his boots were polished each night after he came to bed. They would get so dusty in the stables. Just before bed, he would cuddle me close and whisper, ‘Have sweet dreams, my Nellie.’ Then he kissed my temple.” Mrs. Copeland sighed, her eyes overbright with tears and her voice a little rough.
This time Joanna was the one who patted Mrs. Copeland’s hand.
The cook wiped her eyes and cleared her throat. “Now, you tell Nelly, what’s all this talk of kisses and love? Have those silly gentlemen finally gotten wise to how pretty and intelligent you are?”
“No,” Joanna said. That was the truth, as far she knew. Brock had offhandedly proposed to her, but that didn’t mean he thought she was pretty or intelligent. He wanted her, yes, but he was so impulsive about it all that she wasn’t certain why.
“What the devil is wrong with those men?” the cook said with a huff. “You’re pretty, you’re intelligent, and you’re far too sweet.” Mrs. Copeland waved the glass of sherry to accentuate her point.
Joanna finished her tart, feeling no more decided on Brock and his proposal than before. She had hoped that when a man she cared about finally got around to asking her, there would’ve been…trumpets blowing, she supposed, vows of undying love, something worthy of the quest to win her heart. A marriage proposal should not have been thrown out in the middle of an argument in a dark carriage with a man she had just slapped in front of all of Bath.
Weariness filled her with a heavy fog as she tried to think of what she should do, not just about Brock but about her future.
“Why don’t you go to bed? You look dead on your feet, dearie.” Mrs. Copeland took her plate and gave her a gentle shove toward the door leading out of the kitchens. Joanna paused only long enough to look back as Mrs. Copeland put away the sherry, the cook was still wiping her eyes.
How lucky Mrs. Copeland had been to have a love like that. Joanna turned away, and with dragging, defeated steps she sought refuge in the library. Sometimes she was too exhausted to sleep, and a good book would help relax her mind. The library of their townhouse in Bath was smaller than the one at their manor house in the country but still large enough that she could wander between the tall shelves and lose herself within the land of books. As a child, she’d often imagined that a doorway between the shelves would open up and she could step inside the pages of a story itself. Now she wished more than ever that she could do just that. Step into a world apart from this one and forget her troubles.
Joanna took a candle from the table by the door and lit it with a taper from the fireplace. Then she perused the shelves, studying the various titles. Nothing immediately drew her attention, but she continued to look as she moved deeper into the shelves toward the back of the room. If she was being honest with herself, all she could think about was being kissed deliriously by the man who haunted her thoughts now. She touched the spine of a nearby book as if it held the answers she longed for, such as why Brock was back in England now and callously proposing marriage at the worst, least romantic time. Furthermore he didn’t love her, didn’t believe in love matches. What the devil was she to say to that? She believed in love matches and every wonderful thing that came with them.
None of these books would do to distract her. Damned Scot! How dare he wreck a perfectly good night! She might as well just head up to bed. She started back to the edge of the nearest bookcase but froze when she heard voices close by.
When the door to the library opened, the voices echoed along the spines of the books. Her breath stirred the flame of the candle she held close to her face.
“Ashton, we must speak,” Regina, their mother, said. “Please stop walking away from me. It’s important.”
“Mother.” Ashton’s aggrieved sigh would have made Joanna smile, but her mother’s next words forced her to remain silent and out of sight behind the shelf.
“I’m worried about Joanna. You saw her tonight, how irresponsible. So many dances with Lord Kincade…”
“I heard,” Ashton said bitterly.
“And then to strike him? If she had any chance of a match before tonight, she has none now.”
Ashton’s booted steps sounded as though he was pacing before the fire.
“I am worried as well, but not because of tonight. Joanna was pushed to her limits—her frustration at her situation is quite clear. I do not fault her in the least for hitting Kincade. He had no intention of letting her go to another man for the rest of those dances. My concern lies in that no man will take her now, as she is. I put out discreet offers to the best gentlemen, but the moment I utter her name, the men flee. I’ve emptied entire card rooms at my club. I do not understand it.”
