Page 59 of A Widow for the Earl
Beatrice nodded. “I know it is strange, but yes.”
“I suppose it is not so bad,” Prudence conceded, sitting back. “I can think of worse places to be, either living or dead. Am I meant to thank this yew tree for shading us? Will it be… angry or something if I do not?”
Beatrice laughed softly, as she began to unpack the picnic basket, setting the delicious array of cakes and sandwiches on the blanket between them. “I do not think you need to, but it does not hurt to show gratitude to nature once in a while.”
“Thank you for your shade, Miss Yew,” Prudence called up to the branches, grinning as she looked back at Beatrice. “I do not know why, but I get the sense that this yew tree is a mademoiselle. Goodness, is that an odd thing to say?”
Beatrice passed her friend a beef sandwich, spicy with the scent of horseradish. “Not at all. I have the same feeling. There is something… innately feminine about it that I cannot explain either. Perhaps, that is why I feel so safe here. If it felt masculine, I might not.”
Prudence bit into the sandwich, talking with her mouth full. “If Vincent was a tree, what sort of tree would he be?”
“Mercy, what a question.” Beatrice took a bite of her own sandwich, thinking as she chewed. Finally, as she swallowed, she made her choice. “Something hardy and stubborn, like a crabapple or a birch. Yes, a crabapple, because you never know if the fruit will be sour or sweet.”
Prudence paused, brushing a crumb from her lips. “I suppose a tree is formed by its environment. My brother is much the same.” She frowned. “He inherited the earldom so young, and… I do not think he had the chance to flourish as he might have done if our father had not died. He had to be responsible, he had to protect us all, and I do not doubt that there were things he had to remedy that had been left behind by our father. Accounts and such; I do not know.
“Even our mother relies on him a bit too much, sometimes behaving as if she cannot function without his presence,” sheadded, shaking her head. “He never had the chance to just be young and in society, enjoying himself. I do wonder what sort of tree he might have been if he had been given that grace.”
Beatrice took another thoughtful bite of her sandwich, gazing out across the graveyard as she let Prudence’s words sink in. “I have wondered that, too.”
“You have?” Prudence sounded surprised.
Beatrice nodded. “I have wondered if he is physically incapable of having fun or if he truly does not know how to have fun. It would make sense, if he had to bear so much responsibility, so young, that he missed out on the lessons of joy and enjoyment.”
That still does not mean I will be lenient toward the way you treated me, spoke to me…
She bristled at the memory, his remarks casting a pall over any forgiveness she might have been feeling.Everyonehad endured hardships; that did not give a person the right to be cruel to another. Indeed, if he had just allowed her to explain what she had meant about the jealousy, he would have had no reason to be so unkind at all.
It was not as if I was oblivious to my shortcomings. I did say it to you myself, when you carried me to my rooms.
Her blood boiled with an irksome blend of fury and bashfulness, still confused as to how he could be so gentle one moment, andso sharp the next. He truly was the crabapple tree, the fruit of his personality a game of chance: face-scrunchingly sour or deliciously sweet or rotten altogether.
“Bea?” Prudence said, her voice changing. The pitch of it was higher, more affected than before.
“Yes?” Beatrice replied, arching an eyebrow.
Prudence smiled broadly. “Do you think you might be a darling, and do me the most generous of favors?”
“That would depend on the favor,” Beatrice said, continuing to attack her satisfying sandwich.
The younger woman’s throat bobbed. “I was hoping you might help me to convince my brother to let me attend the rest of the Season. I cannot afford to lose any more time than I already have, if I am to make the Wilds sisters a trio of duchesses.” Her smile faltered. “When I thought there would be a scandal, I realized my foolishness. Bea, I am more scared of becoming a spinster and a burden than I am of any ghosts in this graveyard.”
The confession took Beatrice by surprise. She had always assumed that Prudence was more like Teresa had been, prior to meeting Cyrus: a lady who did not care for the idea of marriage at all. A lady like Beatrice herself had been.
Yet, she was no stranger to society and its peculiar ways; it had a habit of changing people. Or, perhaps, it was notsociety at all but the fear of being… left behind, somehow, that transformed ladies who sniffed at the notion of marriage into ladies who would say ‘yes’ to anyone who asked. She had seen the phenomenon often enough.
“Pru, with respect, I do not think I will be much help to you,” she said apologetically. “You know that Vincent and I are not exactly friendly, at present.”
Prudence sank back, tilting her head toward the yew tree. “And yet, the magic tree says that you must help me. Indeed, it says that, despite what you think, hewilllisten to you. When it comes to matters such as this, the tree seems to think that he values no one’s opinion more than yours.”
“I do not think you are hearing it correctly,” Beatrice said, smiling tightly. Although, the wind in the branchesdidseem a little louder.
Prudence shook her head. “No, I think I am hearing it perfectly.” She opened her eyes. “Please, Bea, will you do this for me?”
With a weary sigh, already dreading the thought of having to speak to Vincent again, Beatrice nodded. “Very well. But if it does not work, please do not blame me.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Vincent raised his head from his luncheon of white fish and potatoes in a parsley sauce, as a blur hurried past the dining room door.
