Page 47 of A Widow for the Earl
“I am sorry to be such a burden,” Prudence continued, sniffling. “You have done so much for our family, Brother, and I have just… made such a mess. I wish I could undo it. The apples were sour, anyway.”
He patted her back gently, carrying her the rest of the way to her bedchamber. “It is all right, Pru. You made a mistake, but it will be all right. I will help you.” He held her a little tighter. “I will not allow any harm to come to you.”
“I am such a goose,” she mumbled, making him smile.
“You are, but you are my responsibility,” he replied, taking her into the guest bedchamber.
There, he set her down on the bed and tucked her in beneath the covers, wondering why he had never done so before. He thought back, reasoning that their mother or one of their sisters must have been the one to tuck her in at night. He had likely been elsewhere, learning how to become an earl instead of being an actual part of the family.
“I am sorry for being a goose,” she murmured, her eyes closing. “I will try to be less of a goose in future.”
He patted her hand awkwardly. “One should not make promises they are unlikely to keep.”
“Hmm?” she said sleepily.
“Nothing.”
He waited a moment at her bedside, his heart heavy with the weight of a guilt he had never contemplated before. Circumstances had demanded that he play the part of earl and substitute patriarch from the moment their father died, when he was barely more than a boy. Now, he wondered what he had lost out on by dedicating everything to the earldom instead of his sisters. How much had he missed? How much of Prudence’s misbehavior was he inadvertently to blame for?
I should have noticed you were unsettled. I should have known you would not cope well with the departure of your sisters.
“I am sorry,” he whispered, a lump in his throat as he took his leave, closing the door gently behind him.
It was not until he was halfway down the stairs that he remembered he had another wayward woman to contend with, who would not be the least bit apologetic. He had never encountered her while merry before, and suspected it could go one of two ways: she would be too silly to reason with, or the port would turn her toward even greater conflict. In truth, he was not sure which he would prefer.
I wonder if she is still frozen like that.He instantly forced down the laughter that tried to bubble up, for now was not the time for amusement.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Walking through the drawing room door, however, Beatrice was not where Vincent had left her. Her laughter had faded into soft, slumbering breaths as she lay curled up on the floor, a cushion hugged to her chest, as if she had not quite been able to make it onto the chaise-longue, so had chosen to fall asleep right there.
“Go away,” she murmured, readjusting her grip on the cushion. “You should not… enter a lady’s chambers… unannounced.”
Any softness he had felt hardened at the edges. “I am notinyour chambers,” he replied gruffly. “You are attempting to sleep on the drawing room floor.”
“So what if I am?” she replied, scrunching her eyes tighter. “This is… my bed now. Go away and let me sleep.”
He almost did, but his waning chivalry held him in place. If he let her sleep there, she would ache in the morning, her back sorefrom the hard floorboards. And though it was not yet autumn, the nights were growing colder; he did not want her to catch a chill, despite it being no more than an hour until the sun rose.
“Come on,” he said decisively, marching across to where she lay. “You cannot sleep here. It is inappropriate for a lady to sleep on the floor, and I shall not permit it in my house, regardless of how much port you have imbibed.”
“Just a sip,” she protested, cracking open one bleary eye.
He sighed. “Yes, but howmanysips?”
“I do not remember,” she mumbled.
“No, I do not expect you do.”
Crouching down, ignoring her complaints, he scooped her up into his arms and lifted her from her hardwood bed. She kept the cushion against her chest, sleepily scowling up at him as he began to make his way out of the room with her. First, however, he took care to blow out all of the candles that they had ignited for their merrymaking. The last thing he needed was the manor burning down before he received official confirmation of his inheritance.
As he walked toward the staircase, he was surprised by the way she naturally turned in to him, her cheek finding a place to rest on his shoulder. She felt… nice in his arms, not wriggling or kicking out her legs as he had imagined she might.
“Careful you do not trip,” she mumbled. “I do not want to break something.”
He glanced down at her. “If you were steadier on your feet, I would insist on you walking. Alas, you are more likely to break something ifyouwalk than if I carry you, so be quiet.”
“Never,” she retorted, chuckling to herself.
