Page 22 of A Widow for the Earl
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Trixie? He calls her ‘Trixie’?
The nickname stuck like a fishbone in Vincent’s mind as he shed the layers of the day, donning the loose shirt he slept in. He knew nothing of this Frederick fellow, but he supposed he should not have been surprised that Beatrice had such an inappropriate friendship. Everything she did was inappropriate.
You were the one who held her against you…
He shook off the thought like an insect. He had held her like that because he was a gentleman who valued chivalry. He could not have simply let her fall, where she might have hurt herself on the hard parquet. And he had only held on as long as he did to ensure that she was steady on her feet again. What other reason could there be?
But I did not announce myself. I snuck in like a common thief.Ibehaved poorly.
He remembered the look on Duncan’s face, the threat in Cyrus’ eyes, the disappointment in Valeria’s, and the fear upon the faces of Teresa and Prudence. His attitudehadbeen beneath him, because ofher… Beatrice, getting under his skin yet again.
“You are well acquainted with society gentlemen, are you not?” Vincent asked his valet, deciding that he ought to turn his attention to productive pursuits before the name ‘Trixie’ poisoned his brain entirely.
Bartlett seemed pleased by the question. “Yes, my lord. Valets know valets and, in turn, we know plenty about society’s gentlemen.” He paused. “Is this to do with the matter of the Viscountess marrying again?”
Vincent frowned. He did not remember mentioning Beatrice specifically when he had asked if a thrice-wed bride would be unmarriageable.
Of course he knows who I was referring to. How many young ladies with three dead husbands can there be?
He gathered himself, annoyed that Beatrice continued to knock his concentration off-kilter. “I have been considering some potential candidates,” he said, moving to the basin to wash his face. “I should like your opinion. If you know nothing of a gentleman, I should like you to find out information about him.”
He poured fresh, cold water from a delicately patterned jug, into the ceramic basin. The first splash against his tired face was exactly the jolt he needed to get his mind clear again.
“Of course, my lord,” Bartlett replied, a strange note of hesitancy in his voice. “But, if I may, I have taken the liberty of speaking to the staff here, and to some of the tenants of this estate’s lands. It would appear that the Viscountess is rather beloved. I have not heard a bad word said about her, and the accounts are in impeccable order. Truly, impeccable. I have rarely seen such shrewd financial understanding.”
Face dripping, Vincent turned to stare at his valet. “What does that have to do with anything, Bartlett? I want her gone. She could be the greatest accountant in the world, and I would still want her gone.”
What was it about Beatrice that made everyone fawn over her? She was extraordinarily beautiful, yes, but there were many pretty women in society who were awful people. And while he would not have said that Beatrice was ‘awful,’ shewasunruly, half-wild, and a flouter of every rule and expectation. What was there to admire in that?
Is it because she has a gift for parties?He could not deny that the drawing room had looked tremendous, and he had not forgotten the grand ball at Darnley Castle. Societystillgushed about it, forever begging Teresa to host another. She might have, if Beatrice had not been exiled from society for the past year-and-a-half.
“I mention it only because she could make an excellent steward,” the valet said nervously, fidgeting with his cuffs. “You would not have to worry about this estate when you have Grayling to oversee, yet you would reap the rewards of the income she isgenerating. She would have her home, you would have one less thing to think about…”
“She is a woman,” Vincent muttered, grabbing a small square of linen to dry his face. “She cannot be a steward of an estate. It is not how things are done. Moreover, if she has any association with me, if it appears as if I am sheltering her or protecting her, it will reflect poorly on me. I cannot afford to lose business because of her reputation.”
The valet dipped his chin to his chest. “As you prefer, my lord.” He cleared his throat. “But society has a short memory. If she is hidden away here, taking care of things, people will soon forget her and her reputation.”
“My goodness, Bartlett! Has she paid you to defend her? Has she enchanted you? Bewitched you?” Vincent exclaimed, his patience fraying. “Why does no one else see that she is nothing but trouble?”
Bartlett cringed. “Apologies, my lord.”
“Yes, well, take your apologies and leave,” Vincent muttered. “And while you are gone, send an invitation to Lord Mancefield. I should like him to join us for a meeting in two days’ time.”
The valet hesitated, irking Vincent all the more. “What manner of meeting, my lord, so that I know what to write?”
“A meeting with Miss Johnson,” Vincent replied. “He needs a wife, Miss Johnson needs a husband. I believe him to be a decent, reasonable gentleman.Thatwill be the appropriate solution.” He lowered his voice, shaking his head. “A steward, indeed.”
Bartlett raised his head. “Will that be all, my lord?”
“Yes, thank you.”
The valet departed quickly, while Vincent cupped his hands into the basin of cold water and splashed his face again… and again and again, willing the chill to rid his mind of all thoughts of Beatrice. But it seemed it would be as difficult to remove her from his mind as it would be to remove her from his newly inherited manor.
Vincent had just slipped into bed, pulling up the covers, aware that he was about to have a restless night, when a shuddering scream obliterated the peace and quiet. He scrambled out of the blankets, his heart hammering as he ran for the door, not considering his state of undress as he hurried down the hallway.
The scream came again, spurring him onward. He raced along the landing and down the stairs, taking them two at a time, his long nightshirt flapping, running until he skidded to a halt, breathless, outside the library door.
