Storing Up Trouble, стр. 17
A tingle began creeping up Beatrix’s spine when Norman, instead of setting her down, tightened his hold on her and continued for the door.
It was unexpected, the tingle, as well as confusing, because he’d proven himself time and again to be one of the most irritating men she’d ever encountered. Still, irritating or not, he was currently being downright chivalrous as he tried to protect her from her aunt. And while she was perfectly capable of looking out for herself, his chivalry was making her feel all sorts of curious things.
“What do you want me to do?” Norman asked, his breath tickling her ear.
“She wants you to put her down so she can properly greet her favorite aunt,” Aunt Gladys called out before Beatrix could respond.
Norman caught Beatrix’s eye. “Miss Huttleston is your favorite aunt?”
“She’s my only aunt.”
“Ah well, that explains much.” He frowned. “Frankly, though, I got the distinct impression that you don’t think of her as being one of your favorite—”
Beatrix placed her hand firmly over Norman’s mouth, muffling the rest of his words, right as the sound of footsteps drew her attention. Those footsteps apparently drew Norman’s attention as well because he slowly turned around, drawing her closer when Aunt Gladys came into view.
Unfortunately, Aunt Gladys’s appearance was less than reassuring the closer she got to them.
A red substance that did look like blood was dripping from her face and onto her billowing shirt, but Aunt Gladys ignored that as she smiled at Beatrix, which was rather frightening because the red smeared all over her face was in sharp contrast to the whiteness of her teeth.
“Ah, there’s that face I haven’t seen in far too many years,” Aunt Gladys began. “Why, you’ve turned into a most beautiful young lady, something I always worried about because you were rather homely as a child. How delightful to see that you’ve grown out of that stage.”
“Good thing you’re accomplished with chitchat because I wouldn’t know how to respond to a statement like that,” Norman muttered.
“I’m afraid I’m at a loss as well,” Beatrix muttered back. “But you may set me down now, Mr. Nesbit. It’s beginning to feel rather peculiar being held in your arms this long.”
“I believe, given the adventure we’ve shared today, that it’s perfectly fine to address me as Norman,” he said, right as Aunt Gladys took another step toward them.
“On my word, you’re Norman Nesbit,” Aunt Gladys exclaimed.
Instead of setting her down, Norman drew Beatrix closer to him. “I am Norman Nesbit, but I must admit I’m taken aback that you’re familiar with who I am.”
Aunt Gladys gave a wave of her hand. “Your mother, Mary, and I share a delightful disdain for each other—which is why I’ve taken it upon myself to learn everything I can about the Nesbit family.” She winked. “I always find it best to gather pertinent information about one’s nemesis because you never know when such information might be useful.”
Norman bent his head closer to Beatrix. “I’m confident I can outrun your aunt as well as Lurch—er, I mean Edgar. Just say the word.”
Aunt Gladys let out a huff. “There’s no need for that, Mr. Nesbit. I assure you there’s nothing to flee from.”
“I beg to differ, unless you have a reasonable explanation for whatever madness was responsible for . . .” He waved a hand in her general direction.
Aunt Gladys exchanged a look with Edgar, who was still standing in the hallway. “Whatever is he talking about?”
Edgar winced. “I believe he’s referring to your face, one that currently looks as if you’ve recently participated in something concerning.”
A booming laugh was Aunt Gladys’s response to that. “Oh my, I completely forgot. I must look a fright right now. Why, it’s little wonder poor Mr. Nesbit is trying to whisk Beatrix away from me.” She laughed again, hardly an encouraging sound since her laughter echoed around the hallway, eliciting a rousing round of howls from the cats still sitting in a perfectly straight line.
With a last chuckle, Aunt Gladys nodded to Norman. “No need to fret you’re about to deliver my niece into the hands of a madwoman, Mr. Nesbit. There’s a perfectly reasonable explanation. The condition of my face is a direct result of a new beauty regime I’m testing out.”
“Begging your pardon, Miss Huttleston,” Norman began, “but I’ve got two sisters, neither of whom would ever embrace a beauty regime that leaves them looking as if they’ve been in a brawl.”
“A most excellent point, and one I’ll be certain to pass on to Miss Blanche Bell, the inventor of this beauty product, which is, if you’re curious, made out of clay.” Aunt Gladys patted her face, albeit gingerly. “We, as in myself and the women who are currently waiting for me in the parlor, decided the original color of the clay was less than appealing, which is why we added a smidgen of red paint to the mix, hoping that the brighter color would appeal to women with whimsical natures.”
Norman’s brows drew together. “Begging your pardon yet again, Miss Huttleston, but I have to believe that what you’re currently wearing on your face would repulse whimsical women, although it might appeal to women possessed of bloodthirsty natures.”
“Duly noted,” Aunt Gladys said cheerfully. “Perhaps we’ll try a nice shade of yellow next.”
“Which is a color that tends to make one appear sallow,” Norman pointed out. “In my humble opinion, lavender would be the wisest choice because scientific studies suggest that people find lavender a most relaxing color, which should, at least in theory, encourage consumers to purchase such a beauty product, if it does, in fact, result in any beneficial beauty results.”
Aunt Gladys tapped a finger against her chin. “A worthy consideration to be sure. However, because Blanche is convinced that this particular beauty remedy must remain on a woman’s face for at least thirty minutes to ascertain whether or not it will draw out impurities,