Page 55 of A Widow for the Earl
“You are supposed tospeak,Vincent. You are supposed to converse and engage in the occasion. You are not supposed to stay at the side of the room in silence, like a grumpy statue.”She exhaled a shaky breath, willing herself to find just one last morsel of patience.
Remember, he does not know how to have fun.
“I know you do not like him, though I cannot understand why, but you would do well to be more like Freddie,” she added. “He is humorous, he is social, he is eager to converse, and he knows the benefits of having some fun.”
Vincent’s expression darkened. “I have no desire to be anything like that gentleman. He is uncouth and far too familiar with you.”
“Because he is my friend!” she urged, clenching her hands into fists. “Andyouwere the rude one just now, looming over us in your intimidating manner. We were just talking, for goodness’ sake, as we have done for years. He is like the brother I have never had, Vincent.”
Vincent moved closer. “But are you like a sister to him? Is that how he perceives you, or is there more to it, from his perspective?”
“I would wager a great deal that our perspectives are identical,” she replied firmly. “He has known me for six years. He has known me since I was a terrified girl of fifteen, abandoned at her first ball while her parents imbibed with their friends. He was the first person to show me kindness, the first person to acknowledge my existence, and I would not be who I am if it were not for him.”
A flicker of surprise passed across Vincent’s face, halting his approach. “I did not know that.”
His tone was softer than before, laced with something like regret.
“Because you did not ask,” she replied in frustration. “You thought his behavior improper from the moment you met him, so you did not think to learn why Freddie and I are so familiar with one another. Wearelike brother and sister. Perhaps, not like you are with your sisters, but we are like… Lionel and Rebecca.”
The faint hint of regret vanished, replaced with one of his stony expressions, his shoulders pulled back indignantly. “Well, maybe your ‘friendship’ ought to be more like that of me and my sisters: dignified and appropriate. Regardless of your history together, your conduct remains questionable. Are you not embarrassed to be seen flirting and giggling with a man you are not even courting?”
“Among friends? WhyshouldI feel embarrassed?” she countered, her temper flaring. “It is no different than if I were laughing and jesting with Tessie or Pru or Valery.”
She ignored his remark about flirting, refusing to dignify it with an acknowledgement. She would have known if she was flirting, and though shehadpretended to flirt in the past to try and rile Vincent, that had not been her intent tonight.
“Itisdifferent,” Vincent retorted, anger gleaming in his eyes. “That is the problem: itisdifferent, but you are too oblivious to see it. You cannot laugh and jest with a gentleman, least of all one like him. Itwillbe viewed as a flirtation and that will do nothing to aid your shattered reputation.”
“Good grief, it is as if you only have one sentence in your head and you cannot help repeating it!” She looked up at the ceiling for divine assistance. “All you care about is reputation, reputation, reputation. And I am telling you I do not care about that anymore, though I do wonder whyyoucare so much about mine. Indeed, why do you care so much about my interactions with Freddie at all? What is it, really, that annoys you so much about us?”
He paused a note too long before replying gruffly, “Because I cannot bear to witness impropriety. That is all. There is nothing more to it.”
“Really?” She sniffed. “Well, I think that is not quite the truth. If I was ‘giggling’ and jesting with a Lord you had chosen for me to consider, you would not be behaving like this.”
“I certainly would,” Vincent protested.
“No, you would not, because your sense of duty would not allow it.” Beatrice paused, meeting his gaze fiercely. “I think you are jealous, Vincent. I think you?—”
She had been about to elaborate that she thought he was envious of the easy relationship that she and Freddie had, becausehe did not know how to be comfortable around women, but he exploded before she could. Misunderstanding her meaning entirely.
“Jealous?” he scoffed. “I am not jealous of Frederick. How could I be jealous when I could never have feelings for someone like you? You said it yourself; you are wholly unsuitable. You are not prim and proper. You are not ladylike. You are not at all the sort of woman an earlshouldhave for a wife. Y?—”
Beatrice slapped him hard on the cheek, the sound ringing out through the silent library. Tears beaded on her eyelashes as the shock registered upon his face, while something fragile broke within her. The heart she had spent most of her life trying to patch up after endless disappointments and insults, now in pieces too small to put back together.
“You have said enough, thank you. Indeed, you could not be clearer,” she hissed, as she turned on her heel and hurried from the library, determined not to let him see a single tear fall.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Vincent sat down slowly in one of the comfortable reading chairs by the library fireplace, so astonished by what had happened that he could barely feel the sting in his cheek. Hunching over, he held his head in his hands, so appalled with himself that he could not breathe.
You did not let me finish. Why did you not let me finish?
He was not a fool, hecouldunderstand why she had not let him finish when he had begun so harshly. But his thoughts had shifted while he had been speaking, and that last sentence was not going to be another jab at why she was unsuitable.
I meant to say, “Yet, I cannot get you out of my head. I cannot clear my thoughts of you. And yes, I cannot bear it when you are near to Frederick like that, laughing and smiling in a way you do not do with me.”
Sitting there, he did not know which was worse: that she would never hear the end of what he intended to say, or that he had been about to say that at all. A man such as him could not confess to being jealous, whether it was the truth or not. He had already been undone by Beatrice so many times; he needed to cling to a scrap of his dignity.
More to the point, if he admitted he was jealous, he would have to admit something else as well… that hewasbeginning to have feelings for Beatrice. Feelings that would have nowhere to go, for there was no possible way she would reciprocate them.
