Page 37 of A Widow for the Earl
Her hand fell upon her chest, the heel of her palm rubbing slow, soothing circles. For if she was not careful, she would break her cardinal rule, and burst into tears in front of the one man who could never see her cry.
“Keep him as your friend,” Vincent said thickly. “But keep him at a friendly distance.”
He stepped back, his gleaming eyes slowly admiring her, taking in the sight of her from head to toe. His hand curled into a tight fist as he cleared his throat, returning that glittering gaze to her eyes.
“You looked beautiful tonight,” he said, bowing his head.
Beatrice stared at him, her breath catching in her throat. But before she could say a word of reply, he was gone, striding off across the entrance hall with a demeanor that said,Do not dare to follow.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“Do you happen to know where Lord Grayling is this morning?” Beatrice asked the cook, as she entered the kitchens to give back her breakfast plate. A habit she had gotten into while living by herself at Wycliffe, which had fallen by the wayside now that Vincent was there.
But he had not been at breakfast, the footmen had not already served him, and he was not the sort to sleep until late.
“I don’t, my lady,” Mrs. Stephens replied, as she stirred a large pot of stew, tilting her head away from the rising steam. “His valet wasn’t at breakfast, though, now that you mention it. Lovely man he is.”
Beatrice frowned, drawn to the open door that led out into the herb garden.
She leaned against the jamb and gazed out, shielding her eyes from the glare of the morning sun with a hand to her brow. Agentle breeze swayed the trees beyond the garden fence, though her eyes searched between the trunks, looking for any sign of Vincent.
“You looked beautiful tonight.”His words repeated in her mind, making her chest feel strange, as if she could not quite draw a full enough breath.
She still did not understand why he seemed to abhor her friend, Frederick, so much, but she had woken up that morning with a desire to apologize anyway. An extension of the olive branch that they kept passing back and forth, both guilty of snapping it in anger, then trying not-so-successfully to put it back together again.
He had every right to be concerned about Prudence. I would not want her to end up in my situation.
She closed her eyes, remembering the version of Vincent she had encountered last night: the way he had gazed at her, the closeness of him, the intensity in his eyes, the manner in which he had trulyseenher. Everyone always assumed she was fine, because she always had been before. No one saw the inner wounds, because she did not let anyone see.
But he had seen.
Even if it is just so that I am permitted to stay, I should say that I am sorry for my rudeness last night.
At that moment, Mr. Bolam came whistling into the kitchens, carrying a basket of meat wrapped in waxed paper. “The butcher’s boy just came by,” he stated the obvious, setting the basket on one of the workbenches. “Good morning, my lady. How was your evening? You returned earlier than I thought you would.”
“Lord Grayling was tired,” Beatrice replied, turning her gaze away from the beautiful, golden morning. “I thought it best to returnwithhim, considering he had the carriage.”
Mr. Bolam nodded. “Hedidseem tired this morning.”
“You have seen him?” Beatrice asked, a little embarrassed by the urgency in her voice.
“I have, my lady,” the butler replied, frowning. “I assumed he had informed you; he’s gone to London with his valet for a few days.”
An odd jolt took some of the air out of Beatrice’s lungs. “I see. Well, no, he did not inform me, but he is a free gentleman; he can do as he pleases.” She forced a smile. “I am just a little surprised that he would take the risk, when I could lock all the doors and prevent him from ever entering this manor again.”
“Wewillhave to allow him entry again, my lady,” Mr. Bolam said, a note of apology in his voice. “Unless he decided to give up the title, he remains the heir to this house.”
“I was just joking, Bolam,” Beatrice said mildly.
The butler dipped his head. “Of course, my lady. Can I prepare anything for you? Have you any thoughts about what you might care to do with your day?”
As much as she adored Wycliffe, there was only one place that Beatrice wanted to be at that moment. The thought of being alone in the house, not knowing if her behavior last night might truly mean the end of Vincent’s leniency in allowing her to stay, she needed to be among good people. Comforting people.
“Actually, Mr. Bolam, do you think you might prepare the carriage for me?” she said.
The butler raised a surprised eyebrow. “Do you mean to follow His Lordship to London?”
“What? No!” she blurted out, her cheeks warming. “I mean to visit my cousin.”
