Page 24 of A Widow for the Earl
CHAPTER TWELVE
“You look tired, Wilds.”
Vincent lifted his heavy head to look at his friend and brother-in-law, Edmund Connolly, the Duke of Davenport. “I have not been sleeping well. I have never slept well in a bed that is not my own.”
“Then why not return to Grayling?” Edmund suggested. “Anything you need to achieve can surely be achieved from there, with the aid of messengers.”
Vincent hesitated, uncertain of whether to tell the truth or not. “I do not trust this estate in the hands of its current mistress. If I leave, I fear she may build a blockade or destroy every document pertaining to my inheritance or raise an army of servants and tenants to defend against my intrusion.”
He had informed his friend of the situation, grateful to be dealing with someone a little more reasonable than Duncan.He enjoyed his friendship with Duncan, but the man had never cared about what was proper or correct. Edmund, however, understood the importance of rules, duty, and expectations.
Edmund chuckled. “She is a lively creature. Isolde has not always championed her, but after everything she did to support Teresa, she adores her now.”
“Teresa would have managed better without having a friend like her,” Vincent protested. “She might have been married sooner, in truth, if Beatrice had not occupied so much of her time and had not helped her avoid gentlemen at gatherings.”
Edmund frowned. “But not to a man she loves, perhaps.”
“Yes, well, that is just a matter of luck,” Vincent replied uneasily, for he had not quite expected that response from his friend. “Love is not important in a marriage.”
Edmund smiled, raising his glass of brandy. “Says the only one not married.” He took a sip. “I shall have you know that love is exceptionally important. I would not be half the man I am now without the love of my darling Isolde.”
“How is she?” Vincent swirled his brandy, thinking of Grayling House and the bygone days when it had been filled with the laughter and cheer of his three sisters.
“She is well,” Edmund replied, sighing contentedly. “Resting, mostly, until the child comes. Joseph is excited to have alittle brother or sister. Indeed, I think he is more excited than anyone.”
Vincent nodded. “I should visit before then.”
“Yes, you should, but I can see you are busy,” Edmund replied with a smile. “Isolde will not hold that against you. She knows you will visit whenever you are able. What of Prudence? I hear she was here recently.”
“The less said about that, the better,” Vincent mumbled.
It had been almost a week since the peculiar game in the old ballroom, almost a week since he had held Beatrice and surprised himself, and three days since her attempt to spook him. They had not crossed paths since, which unsettled him somewhat, for it was always better to know the enemy’s movements.
And I know all about the elaborate plans she is capable of plotting…
Her odd séance, or whatever it was supposed to be, had been simple in comparison to some of the stories he had heard about gentlemen on the receiving end of her creative punishments.
“She is young,” Edmund said gently. “She is spirited. It is her first Season, and she is exploring this new freedom. Do not be too hard on her. If you do, it may hinder rather than help.”
Vincent raised an eyebrow. “Is that you speaking or my sister?”
“A little of both,” Edmund replied, chuckling.
Finishing the dregs in his glass, turning his gaze out toward the neat gardens that adjoined the study, Vincent puffed out a weary breath. “I do not mean to be the villain,” he said, almost to himself. “My sisters, they have always thought I am too severe, or that I am being unfair. They do not understand the weight that I carry. They do not understand what it has taken to ensure their security. They do not realize that my purpose has always been them.”
He had never had a moment to consider what he might want. Inheriting young, forced to put aside his grief at the loss of his father, he had worked tirelessly to bring the Grayling name back to a place of merit and prosperity.
But his sisters did not see that. All they saw was a grumpy brother who made demands of them, corrected their manners and etiquette, and pushed them toward fortuitous matches, not understanding that it was so he could rest easily. Once he knew they were all safe and taken care of,thenhe might have time to consider his own future.
“Isolde has some notion of what it means to be you,” Edmund said encouragingly. “She can empathize. Teresa, too, I imagine, now that she has seen what it takes for Cyrus to run his castle. Prudence will come around too, once she has found a suitable match.”
“In truth, I do not know if there is a man brave enough,” Vincent admitted, mustering a laugh. “That is my current punishment, it seems: to succeed in finding courageous matches for two wild women, neither of whom seem inclinedtomarry.”
Edmund furrowed his brow. “Twowomen? You cannot seriously be thinking of finding a match for Beatrice? She may be young still, but her value at the marriage market must be nil at present. No one would dare.”
“Physicians were sent for,” Vincent protested, for he could not bear to hear another person tell him it was impossible. “They all attested to the fact that her husbands died naturally, with no interference. If they had found any evidence of foul play, she would be in prison, for goodness’ sake! It is not as if she isactuallykilling them on their wedding night. So, why should she not remarry? Why is it so outlandish a suggestion?”
Edmund sighed. “Because, regardless of what the noted physicians have said, there must be areasonthey have all died. Three deaths are no longer coincidence.” He paused. “I am not saying she did it; I am not saying that at all. But I am, perhaps, saying that there are forces at work. Unnatural forces.”
