Page 15 of A Widow for the Earl
He halted as he reached the top of the staircase, his hope of a peaceful escape to the stables shattered by the sight below.
“What are you doing?” he asked, continuing his descent.
Beatrice turned, her hand filled with a fan of letters. “Sending for the cavalry.”
“Pardon?”
“It is the end of summer,” she said, with a look in her eyes that he did not care for. “I thought I might host a garden party. Indeed, if you are quite determined to oust me from my charming home, I thought it best to make the most of it.”
He shook his head. “Absolutely not.”
“With respect, Wilds,” she replied, with no respect at all, “and with tedious repetition, you are not yet the Viscount of Wycliffe. Until you are, I shall proceed as I please, as the Viscountess of this estate. Besides, it is to your benefit.”
“How could it possibly be to my benefit?” he remarked, his heart beating a little faster at the thought of a gathering.
He hated such events, and would have avoided them entirely if it were not part of his duty as a member of high society.
“If I am to find a fourth husband quickly and be out of your sight sooner rather than later, then I must be around eligible gentlemen,” she explained, in a calm tone that unnerved him. “I cannot very well attend a true society event, considering the circumstances, so I must have my own. I have asked my friends to invite any fearless scoundrels that they know.”
Vincent clenched his jaw, seeing the logic in what she said, but not trusting it one bit. She had scoffed at the notion of marrying again at breakfast, and no one changed their mind so swiftly. She was up to something and, judging by her history of creative punishment for gentlemen who crossed her, he did not like what it might mean for him.
“I have looked at the accounts; there is no money for a garden party,” he said stiffly.
“Ihave looked at the accounts,” she replied, “and there is plenty for the modest affair I mean to host. Who knows, perhapsyouwill find a bride at the very same party. Is there anyone you admire? I could send them a letter if you like?”
He puffed out a frustrated breath, refusing to bite. “Very well, spend what you want.” He moved past her, opening the front door. “But be aware of this, Miss Johnson: whatever you spend is what I shall expect back when you marry again. Indeed, whatever you spend before you depart this manor will bereturned to me in the future, though I shall be lenient and not demand interest.”
“In that case, I best find myself a duke who enjoys taking risks with his life,” she countered with a sly smile, as she pushed past him, heading out of the manor ahead of him.
He stopped on the porch, confused. “Where are you going?”
She fanned the letters at him. “To send these.”
“You cannot walk alone to the village!” he protested, wondering if Beatrice had an obedient bone in her body. “Leave them with the butler, as is proper.”
She waved his remark away, walking onward as she called back, “Now that there is an intruder in the house, they cannot be trusted in anyone else’s hands but mine!”
Vincent watched her stride down the driveway, torn between the lengthy ride he had been looking forward to and the gentlemanly duty of ensuring a lady did not walk alone. Etiquette was important to him. Expectation was important to him.
Muttering under his breath, he waited until she had vanished from sight, then took off after her. He would follow at a discreet distance, unnoticed, to make sure no harm came to her. If he did not, he would not have a moment’s peace until she returned safely.
Insufferable, stubborn woman…
Does he honestly think I do not know he is there?Beatrice smiled to herself as she picked her way down the steep path that would deposit her at the boundary of Mill Hill. A charming village she had walked to often over the past four months, where she was known and not judged.
She had been aware of Vincent following her since she left the estate, amused by his attempts to hide every time she looked back over her shoulder. Why he had not merely insisted on escorting her, when that would have been far simpler, was beyond her.
These gentlemen have their pride, I suppose.
She pressed on, pretending she was unaware of his presence, until she got to the post office.
The postmaster greeted her cheerily. “Good morning to you, Lady Wycliffe.” His eyes widened at the quantity of letters in her hand. “Goodness, you have been busy.”
“Invitations,” she said, by way of explanation. “Mr. Lowton, might you tell me if there is a gentleman outside?”
The postmaster squinted toward the windows. “Why… yes, I believe there is. A tall fellow in a riding jacket?” He paused. “Is he a danger to you?”
“Oh no, he is harmless. I just wanted to be sure.” She smiled, glancing at the door at the back of the post office.
