Page 18 of A Widow for the Earl
“I have not yet decided,” Beatrice said, sipping her punch to wet her dry throat. “I am all ideas, at present. All I am sure of is that I mean to make Vincent leave this house and never set foot here again, bequeathing it entirely to me.”
Frederick had appeared on the periphery of the women’s circle, an amused twinkle in his dark brown eyes. “Up to mischief again, Trixie?”
“Necessary mischief, and itisin my nickname,” Beatrice replied with a wink. “So, what do you all think? If you were trying to get rid of a pest, how would you do it? Give me all of your ideas, the wilder the better.”
Teresa raised a hand. “You could hide a fish in his bed, like you did with Mr. Forsythe. Oh, or sew all of his clothes so they are all far too small, like you did with Lord Pollock!”
“If you put lemon juice in ink, I hear it disappears!” Prudence offered. “You could replace the ink in his inkwells. Vincent will be beside himself, or he will think he has gone mad, signing documents and writing correspondence that simply does not exist.”
Beatrice rather liked that notion, particularly for the signing of whatever document would give Wycliffe to him. If there was no signature, there could be no confirmation of him being the Viscount of Wycliffe. The trouble was, she did not think it would actually work. If nothing else, Vincent would notice, long before his writing disappeared, that his correspondence smelled a lot like lemons.
“It must be more dramatic than that,” she said, taking inspiration from the performers on the lawn. “A séance, perhaps. Things moving by themselves. Ghosts and ghouls around every corner, haunting this quiet little manor of mine.Failing that, I could give everything away, then renovate the entire house in terrible taste, and spend all of the estate’s money.”
Frederick laughed. “I prefer the first idea. You are quite mad to come up with such notions, but I like it. It is perfectly you.”
“I have to admit,” Valeria said shyly, “Iwouldlike to see the outcome of that.”
Teresa nodded eagerly. “It would be like a novel in real life! A Gothic tale of vengeful ghosts!”
“I would happily perform the part of the ghost,” Prudence volunteered. “Although, my brother might notice my absence from Grayling House, and I doubt I could stay hidden from him here.”
She seemed crestfallen by the idea ofnotbeing permitted to frighten the life out of her older brother, bringing a chuckle to Beatrice’s lips. Try as Vincent might, he would never break the friendships she had formed with his sisters; she just needed to be reminded of that sometimes, when her vulnerabilities got the better of her.
“You could try talking to him,” Duncan interjected, wandering over with Cyrus in tow. “He is not unreasonable, Beatrice.”
Beatrice narrowed her eyes at Valeria’s husband. “With respect, Duncan, he is not the same with you as he is with me. Icannotreason with him, for he has already decided that everything that comes out of my mouth is nonsense. That it is beneath him to listen to me. He is mean, judgmental, arrogant, and has already made it clear that my opinion means nothing.”
Prudence and Teresa fell silent, casting unsettled glances at one another. They were in a tricky situation, for though they adored Beatrice, Vincent was their brother; they could not very well choose sides, nor could they agree with Beatrice’s assessment of him. Even if, perhaps, they knew some of it was true.
“You have not helped yourself by antagonizing him,” Duncan pointed out, not unkindly.
Taking a pointed sip of her punch, Beatrice leveled a cool gaze at Valeria’s husband. “He may be your friend, and I respect that you feel compelled to defend him, but unless you have been where I am, please do not put the blame on me.”
She sighed, aware she was directing her anger at the wrong person. “You are not the one who is about to lose your home. Indeed, perhapsyoucould speak to Vincent on my behalf, if you are so certain it will work? A returned favor for me pushing you and Valery together.”
Duncan scratched the side of his jaw, grimacing a little.
“Exactly,” Beatrice said wearily. “You know he will not listen.”
A stilted, pensive sort of silence fell across the group, while the quartet played their beautiful music. The mood of the party had dampened along with the weather, the gray clouds beginning to spit, and Beatrice did not know how to fix it.
Vincent may come back at any moment.
He had ridden off to Oxford first thing that morning, so he had not been there when the guests arrived. She hoped he might decide to stay there in Oxford for a while, to give her more time to come up with her liberation plan, but he had a nasty habit of turning up unannounced.
“A game, I think,” Valeria said, clapping her hands together. “A treasure hunt, perhaps, while we search for a way to help my dear cousin here? Indeed, I find there is nothing like a game to aid one’s mind in thought.”
Beatrice flashed her cousin a grateful smile. “I think a treasure hunt sounds wonderful.”
Agreement rippled through the small party, the cheery mood slowly restoring itself.
“First, I shall help fetch the children inside,” Valeria said, looking across the lawn to where the two nannies were gathering up Valeria and Teresa’s children. “Then, I shall pick a room to begin what I like to call ‘Blind Man’s Hunt.’”
Beatrice beamed, remembering the game well. “Oh, dear cousin, that isperfectto liven us up again!”
“What on earth is Blind Man’s Hunt?” Frederick asked, sipping his drink.
Beatrice flashed him one of her most wicked grins. “You shall soon find out.”
