Page 17 of A Widow for the Earl
“Trixie!” he cheered in reply, opening out his arms.
She flew into his embrace, not caring what anyone thought of the propriety of such a thing. He was like a brother to her, and she would not be ashamed of her kinship with him. Besides, it hardly mattered what she did when she was among her dearest friends and family; they would not judge her the way that society did.
“Where have youbeen?” she demanded to know, punching him lightly in the chest. “I wrote to you at least six times and heard nothing from you. I thought you might have joined society in shunning me.”
Frederick Sutton was the second son of the Marquess of Merricold, and had been the first person to speak to her when she was abandoned at her first ball at fifteen. She remembered being close to tears, afraid and alone, cowering beneath theglares of the other guests who clearly thought she was some waif who had snuck in. Then, he had appeared, handing her some lemonade and a salmon puff, telling her to pay no attention to anyone. Seated beside her, he had created stories about the ladies and gentlemen in the crowd until she had forgotten her fear, laughing so hard she had hurt a rib.
“I had to go to Scotland,” he explained, smiling. “My brother wanted to see if the hunting reallyisbetter up in the Highlands, so we spent most of the summer there. Naturally, he shot nothing. I managed to hunt two stags and an abundance of pheasant.”
Beatrice pulled a face. “Poor beasts.”
“Ah yes, I forgot your aversion to hunting.” He chuckled. “Surprising, really, considering you are the huntress of husbands and rather successful in claiming your trophies, or so I hear.”
“Freddie, no! Do not say that!” She smacked him in the arm. “I can bear society saying terrible things about me, but I cannot bear it from my friends.”
His expression softened, his hand lifting to cup her face for a moment. “That was poor taste, I admit. Accept my humblest apologies.”
“Very well,” she replied, smiling. “But do not do it again.”
“I swear it,” he replied, lowering his voice as he added, “I really was sorry to hear that it happened again. I thought of you when I received the news, and I am sorry I did not visit to offer my condolences. I wanted to, but I suspected you would not be welcoming visitors.”
Beatrice met his sympathetic gaze. “Thank you, Freddie.”
At that moment, the gentlemen of the party—Duncan and Cyrus—appeared, eager to be introduced to Frederick. They did not move in the same circles, and as Beatrice only saw Frederick at gatherings, she had not seen him as often as she used to. As such, her friends’ husbands had not had the pleasure of making his acquaintance.
“I shall leave you to it,” Beatrice said with a wink, slipping away to rejoin her friends and cousin who were seated by the terrace doors, enjoying glasses of punch while they kept an eye on the children.
Prudence beamed as Beatrice sat down on the sea of cushions. “You must have more parties here, Bea. And I must be invited to all of them.”
“I should like that very much,” Beatrice replied, sighing. “Alas, I do not think it will be possible. Your brother is trying to get rid of me.”
Valeria frowned, turning to face her cousin. “What do you mean?”
“Yes, what do you mean?” Teresa nodded, her mouth set in a worried line.
In a hushed voice, Beatrice explained what had occurred the other day, with the sudden and ungainly arrival of Vincent, and the letter of inheritance that he had spoken of.
“He has said, quite specifically, that I am to marry again,” she concluded, waiting for the raucous laughter that would surely follow, for it was the most ridiculous of suggestions.
Instead, her cousin and her friends stared at her with the worst possible look in their eyes: pity. It did not seem as if any of them had known about the inheritance, yet there was no great surprise from them either. Perhaps, they had known, deep down, that her sanctuary could not last. Why not, when, deep down, she had known it too?
“Naturally, I am not going to do that,” Beatrice continued, grinning to hide her discomfort. “I have a plan. I always have a plan.”
Prudence’s gaze flitted toward the lawn. “Does my brother know I am here?”
“Not unless you told him,” Beatrice said.
The color drained from Prudence’s face. “Oh no. I am going to be in so much trouble when he sees me here!” She hesitated. “I amnot supposed to be anywhere near you, Bea. I only came because I thought he was in London on business.”
“We can tell him we were only passing on our way to Valeria’s residence,” Teresa jumped in, looking a little uneasy herself.
So, I am to have no friends because Vincent has said so?Beatrice put a hand to her chest, struggling to ease the tightness that was spreading from one shoulder to the other. She had spent her childhood alone; she did not want to have to spend her adulthood alone, too, because of the say-so of one man.
“What is the plan?” Valeria asked, resting a gentle hand upon Beatrice’s forearm. As if she knew of the turmoil twisting around in her cousin’s head.
Prudence brightened. “Yes, do tell us!”
Although she could not quite trust Prudence to keep a secret, Beatrice was glad to have the attention of her friends again. And Prudence had a keen mind for japes and trickery; her suggestions might be valuable, and if Vincent scolded her for being there, she might well keepthissecret out of spite.
