Page 29 of A Widow for the Earl
He is letting me stay…
Her heart soared and sank, remembering the caveat of ‘for now.’ How was she supposed to feel settled at Wycliffe again, if her position was not permanent? And if he was not planning to marry her off, then whatwashis plan? Would he sell the house instead? Auction his secondary title? Petition the Royal Court to give it to someone else?
“I could be of so much use to him if he would just… open his eyes,” she muttered. “If, for a moment, he could set aside his opinions about what a woman should and should not do, he would never have to worry about this estate again.”
If I behave, if I show my worth, maybe Icanget him to appoint me as steward…
It was not the tactic she had begun with, but a tactician was nothing if they could not change their plans at a moment’s notice. If she could win him over with sweetness and obedience, then it would be worth the frustration of having to be someone she was not in his presence.
“He will have to return to Grayling eventually,” she murmured. “If I can put on a performance until then, perhaps…”
The squeak of the gate snapped her head up, her heart jumping. Had Vincent followed her?
A concerning prickle of disappointment bristled through her, unsettling her mind. She did notwantVincent to follow her. That was precisely why she had left the manor, was it not?
“Are you well, Lady Wycliffe?” Edmund asked, frowning.
Beatrice nodded, putting on a pleasant smile. “I am, Your Grace. I just needed some fresh air.”
“Lord Mancefield is definitely gone from here,” Edmund said, approaching. “He will end up killing that poor stallion or being thrown himself.”
Beatrice laughed tightly. “I hope it is not the horse that suffers.”
“I confess, I have never seen Vincent act like that,” Edmund said, a curious glint in his eyes. “I know he has a temper at times, but… he does not leap to the defense of just anyone.”
Beatrice kicked at a tuft of weeds with the toe of her boot. “He felt responsible, Your Grace. It is nothing more than that.”
“Perhaps.” Edmund paused. “May I escort you back to the manor?”
Beatrice shook her head. “No, thank you. I think I will stay here with my husband for a while longer.”
Edmund squinted in confusion, his eyes widening a second later as a soft “oh, I see,” left his mouth. “Well then, I shall leave you to it.”
He turned to leave, halting after a few steps to turn back. “He means well, Lady Wycliffe. I know it does not always seem like it, but he does. He will do the right thing, though it may take some time and persuasion for him to figure out what that is. Be patient with him. I, for one, will speak on your behalf.” He gestured toward the manor. “After all you have endured, you have earned your right to peace and safety. He will see that; I know it.”
“I said this to Duncan, and I shall say it to you,” Beatrice replied, not unkindly or spitefully, but with gentle honesty. “The Vincent you know is not the one I know. I doubt there is anything that could compel him to let me have this manor. But… I will heed your words, and I will try to be patient. Indeed, I will try to put some faith in him.”
Edmund smiled. “I hope you find yourself surprised by the outcome.”
With a polite nod of his head, he made his way out of the small churchyard, taking the driveway back to the house.Leaving Beatrice more confused than when she had entered the churchyard, for now she had a great deal more to unpick.
Over the course of the following day, news spread throughout the manor of Lord Mancefield’s disgraceful behavior toward their mistress. Every room Beatrice entered was filled with sympathetic looks and requests to know how she was feeling, some of the men asking if there was anything they could do to seek vengeance on her behalf. Some of the women, too.
Though she insisted that she was fine and that nothing needed to be done about it, there was a nugget of good to be found within that awful encounter: she had never felt more beloved or more like she belonged.
“You could send him a case of expensive wine,” Margaret said, seated in the corner of Beatrice’s bedchamber, repairing some of Beatrice’s dresses. “But, really, the bottles would be filled with aged vinegar! Imagine if he served it at a dinner party; the embarrassment would be a thing to behold!”
Beatrice chuckled at her lady’s maid. “I fear I have become a bad influence on you, Margie. I should never have told you of all my vengeful exploits.”
“Of course you should,” Margie protested. “I have already helped two of my friends punish some pesky men in the village.”
Drawing a brush through her long brown hair, Beatrice paused for a moment. “How so?”
“We used the fish under the floorboards trick, and the one where you unpick the back seam of their trousers just enough so they won’t notice until they bend or sit, then the entire thing comes apart!” Margie cackled with delight, the sound infectious.
“Did everyone see?” Beatrice asked, grinning.
Margie nodded. “It happened in the market square on market day! It couldn’t have been done better. He went running to his mother, begging her to sew them back up!”
