Page 40 of A Widow for the Earl
The irony was not lost on her, that she had awoken the morning after Lord Huxtable’s ball with the intention of apologizing to Vincent, only to resume her plan to provoke him in his absence. But that was entirely Valeria’s fault; she had made such outlandish suggestions and, as a result, Beatrice really had no choice but to increase her efforts to send him away forever.
As if I would ever fall for such a man.She scoffed quietly.I would rather poke out my eyes with blunt forks.His reaction to her theater would merely confirm what she already knew: he was unreasonable, he had an unbearable temper, and he neededto be removed from her life as swiftly as possible. Preferably, before her mind could become any more muddled.
She scrunched her eyes shut, slowing down her breathing, as she heard those heavy footsteps making their way back up the hall.
“Mr. Bolam?” Vincent’s gruff voice came.
“Yes, my lord?” the butler replied, a note of trepidation in his words.
“Might you tell me where Miss Johnson is?”
The butler cleared his throat. “Her Ladyship is in the drawing room, my lord.”
Thank you, Bolam.At leasthehad the decency to refer to her by her proper title, even if it was under some scrutiny.
She could barely contain herself as she heard the drawing room door sweep wider, whispering conspiratorially across the floor. Vincent’s footfalls thudded closer, matching the leaping beat of her heart, until she was certain he could not have been more than a few paces away.
Now, for my first performance.
Stretching out on the chaise-longue, shaking through a yawn the way one did of a morning when they had slept particularly well, she fluttered her eyes open.
“Wilds!” she feigned a gasp, sitting up sharply.
Vincent stood at the bottom end of the chaise-longue, like he had been watching over her while she slept. Yet, the fury that she wassureshe was going to see was nowhere to be found. His face was placid, only his sapphire eyes creasing at the corners, as if trying to solve an impossible equation. Not at all the fearsome storm she had expected, but a mild breeze.
“When did you return?” she asked, hiding her bewilderment behind another fake yawn.
He braced a hand against the back of the chaise-longue. “Not long ago.” He paused. “I am not surprised that you were so tired that you could not make it to your bedchamber; you must have worked tirelessly on that… interesting room at the end of the hall.”
“My theater?” She waved a dismissive hand. “It was nothing. Rather, it iseverythingthat a grand estate needs. This might not be the largest manor but, my goodness, it shall have the spirit of a palace. Indeed, that is why I had no choice but to choose Italian velvet for the curtains. I am just glad that I could have some sourced so swiftly. It was not inexpensive, I will not deny that, but it was completely necessary.”
He stared at her, a hint of something in his eyes that she could not read. “The cost does not concern me, nor how you spend the estate’s money.”
She sat up straighter, eager to begin the argument to end all arguments. Clearly, his rage was about to be unleashed; he was justtryingto hide it behind that calm mask. There was no way she could have made a theater out of his favorite room and himnotbe furious.
“I have more than enough to entertain your strange ideas,” he added with a shrug that shocked her.
Why is he not mad? What is going on?
She thought back to something Valeria had said: that maybe he was trying to play tricks in the same vein as her. Tactics to getherto leave. And as ranting and raving had not gotten him particularly far, perhaps he had figured it was time to try something different. Disorienting and disarming her, maybe.
Well,thatwould not work either.
“I know you were becoming fond of that room,” she said in a saccharine sweet voice. “But I looked at the other rooms, considered them, and found that none had the… essence that I was seeking. The light in there is exquisite. Although, no one will be able to see it when the drapes are drawn for a performance.”
He said nothing, his expression unchanged.
“I thought I might invite some friends to perform a theatrical,” she added, her confusion tinged with unease. “Youmustplay the villain! You would be excellent; you would not have to do a thing. Perhaps, if it is amusing, I shall make it a fortnightly endeavor: guests every two weeks, coming to perform something on my stage.”
An odd smile quirked his lips, taking the wind out of her sails. “Did you do this in the hopes of antagonizing me?”
“What?” She scoffed, swallowing uncomfortably. “Certainly not. I wanted a theater, that is all.”
He shrugged. “It is a nice addition to the manor. Your talent for decoration is… very good.”
Am I still asleep? I must be, for this is not the Vincent I know.
“So, you will perform in the theatrical?” she prodded, unwilling to be defeated so easily by whatever this trick was. “What is your preference? Shakespeare? Marlowe? Oh, I could ask Prudence or Teresa to write something!”
