Page 58 of A Widow for the Earl
“Whatever do you mean?”
Did she hear my argument with her brother?Beatrice thought back on that awful moment in the library, hearing Vincent’s unkind words ringing afresh in her ears.
Prudence smiled. “Oh, nothing.” She waved a dismissive hand, changing the subject. “The trouble is, I do not think I can lure a duke into courting me, much less marrying me. My sisters have set too high of a precedent, and it is really rather unfair. I am almostexpectedto become a duchess, but how am I to even attempt to do that when my brother will not permit me to enter society again?”
Beatrice had no answer for the younger woman, her mind still stuck inside the Darnley Castle library. She liked to think she could take an insult well, her skin thickened by years of society judgment and her parents’ attitude toward her, but Vincent had pierced that skin last night. The embarrassment and injury of it still ached as if it had happened a moment ago.
“Bea?” Prudence prompted.
“I shall have to think on it for a while,” Beatrice replied, struggling to shake off her hurt.
She walked the rest of the way down the drive in a pensive silence, while Prudence hummed a little ditty and pointed out a pair of blackbirds that were fighting over a worm. To Beatrice, it rather seemed like an omen, though she could not decipher its meaning.
A short while later, the two women came to the gates of the gloomy gray chapel. Prudence continued to wander past it, turning in confusion as Beatrice opened up the gate and walked inside.
“We are having our picnic in a graveyard?” the younger woman asked, with a face so alarmed that Beatrice almost laughed.
“We are having our picnic in one of the most beautiful spots on the estate,” Beatrice corrected, leading the way to the mossy bench that sat beneath the grand yew tree.
Once there, she took out a blanket and draped it across the bench, sitting down long before Prudence had even taken her first step into the churchyard. The younger woman stared around in abject horror, wrinkling her nose at the headstones she passed by, shuddering visibly as she hurried the rest of the way to the bench.
“Do wehaveto have our picnic here?” Prudence asked, perching beside Beatrice. “I always feel as if someone is watching me when I am near to places like this. And would it not be rather rude to eat among those who no longer can?”
Beatrice chuckled. “It is common practice to give an offering to the spirits of a graveyard, so they can partake in the picnic. A drop of lemonade, a crumb of sandwich, the pit of a plum. They will be most appreciative.”
“It cannot be such common practice ifIhave never heard of such a thing,” Prudence countered, clasping her hands as if in prayer.
“Ah, well, that is because you do not read the books that I do,” Beatrice explained with a wry smile. “And those would really incense your brother, if he were to discover I had them.”
Prudence gulped. “What sort of books?”
“Old ones. Nothing sinister, just… educational.” Beatrice gestured toward the red-berried rowan trees. “These rowans, for example, are trees of protection. They ward off evil and enchantments, which is why they are so often planted near graveyards—that used to be the case, at least. Their berries have a five-pointed star on them: a symbol often used in what I suppose you would call ‘occult’ practices. But there is no harm in them; they are for keeping people safe.
“And this yew tree, sheltering us from the sun, has been revered for thousands of years. Not this exact one, but yew trees in general.” She laughed awkwardly. “They are thought to carry the history of generations in their boughs and trunks, trees of knowledge and wisdom. They, too, offer protection against evil forces, and there are some tales that suggest you can ask a yew for guidance, and it will answer, or that it can foresee omens. I have yet to try it, but when you hear the wind in the trees sometimes, you cannot help but think that it is the trees themselves, trying to tell you something.”
She turned to find Prudence staring at her as if she had lost her mind completely. All of the color had drained from the younger woman’s face, shivering though it was not at all cold.
“Should I be worried that you are a witch of some kind?” Prudence asked, gulping loudly. “I am not certain that this is a… normal interest, Bea.”
Undeterred, Beatrice relaxed against the back of the bench and looked up into the tangled branches of the beautiful yew. “I am not a normal woman. When you feel as cursed as I do, one cannot help but attempt to understand why… and to try and find a way to undo it.” She closed her eyes, listening to the whispers of the wind. “But I am not a witch; I just read, I do not practice.”
“You think curses are real?” Prudence sounded more disturbed by the second.
Beatrice shrugged. “I think mine is. How else would you explain three dead husbands that I certainly did not kill? All dying on their wedding night to me. All relatively young still, all relatively healthy still, all gone before dawn.”
“Just… really terrible luck?”
Beatrice laughed softly. “Which, by any other name, would be considered a curse.”
“But if curses can be real, then so can… ghosts and specters and… ghouls and…”
Beatrice cracked open one eye, glancing at Prudence, and feeling a little guilty that she had clearly scared her friend. “Do not worry, Pru, there is nothing scarier in this world thanlivingpeople. Besides, I have been coming to this spot for months, day and night, and I have never seen a ghost or a ghoul. Which is a pity, really, for I would very much like to ask Sebastian what happened to him.”
For a while, Prudence said nothing, her wide-eyed attention darting around the churchyard, as if she feared Sebastian might suddenly rise up from his grave.
Beatrice said nothing either, allowing her friend as much time as she needed to relax into the surroundings. Not everyone favored the macabre and the mysterious the way that Beatrice had learned to, and not everyone wanted to eat a picnic among the dead, regardless of the churchyard’s beauty.
“So, this place is a comfort to you?” Prudence said at last, unclasping her hands.
