Page 60 of A Widow for the Earl
Beatrice?He had not thought he would see hide nor hair of her today, after his awful behavior last night. As such, the very last thing he expected was for her to suddenly walk backward, appearing in the doorframe.
“Join me,” he blurted out, setting down his knife and fork, feeling entirely awkward.
She hesitated. “I have just eaten, but… I will sit awhile.”
“You will?” He blinked, wondering if he was misremembering how they had parted ways last night.
The Beatrice who had smacked him across the cheek would not agree to just sit at the dining table with him, would she? Unless,of course, she was waiting for some manner of apology. An apology that he undoubtedly owed.
She wandered in and took the seat opposite him, scraping back the chair in what he suspected was a deliberate attempt to assault his ears. Stony-faced, she sat down and poured herself a glass of water.
He could not help but watch the movement of her slender throat as she drank, her fingers on the stem of her glass so elegant. Considering her reputation, even before the deaths, it was easy to forget that, actually, she had a great deal of poise. A natural grace that many would not possess after a thousand lessons.
But as she set her glass down, spinning it slowly upon the linen tablecloth, he began to wonder why she had joined him at all. She just stared at him in silence, her eyes breathtaking despite her cool gaze. Her cheeks were pink, as if she had taken a brisk walk, her skin radiant.
In the heat of their quarrels, it was easy to forget, too, how uncommonly beautiful she was.
Heaving out a sigh, Beatrice broke the quiet first. “Prudence will not be joining us. We picnicked, and I fear the boiled eggs were not quite fresh.” She pointed upward. “She has retired for the afternoon.”
“Did you not partake in the eggs?” he asked, cringing inwardly. What sort of a question was that, when there were so many other things to be said between them?
“I did, but each egg is different. Mine was fine.” She took another sip of water. “Speaking of Prudence, I have been meaning to ask when you intend to let her return to society? It will not be long before autumn, and the hiatus until the London Season may be a detriment to her success.”
Vincent sat back in his chair, narrowing his eyes. “You are encouraging of her getting married?”
“Certainly, as that is what she wants.” She tapped her fingertips against the side of her glass. “I am always encouraging of ladies pursuing their heart’s desire. If that is a gentleman and marriage for Prudence, then I champion it.”
The reasonable tone of her voice unnerved Vincent somewhat, as did her calm demeanor. He had assumed, when they inevitably crossed paths again, that he could expect unbridled rage and possibly another slap to the face. He hadnotexpected this composed, judicious woman.
The very sort of woman I always thought I would wed.
“I have already told her that she must wait until the spring,” he replied, cutting into the last of his fish. “She needs further education in the realm of discipline and etiquette. I mean to employ a tutor, so there are no more mistakes when she does return to society.”
Beatrice cleared her throat. “With respect, Vincent, it is my firm belief that she has already learned her lesson. Yes, she learned it the hard way, but sometimes that is necessary to avoid furtherupset. Fear can be a potent motivator.” She sipped her water again, as if secretly nervous. “I think the risk of delaying her return, and the effects of that, are far greater than the risk of her making a mistake twice.”
For the first time, it actually sounded like she meant it when she said ‘with respect’. Yet, he did not like it; rather, he did not trust it. Thishadto be a deception of some kind, he just could not see the edges of the trap he might be walking into.
“Yes, well, my decision has been made,” he said. “The wait will not cause much harm, I do not think. She can use that time for reflection, if nothing else.”
Beatrice straightened her posture, her beautiful eyes a touch colder. “As someone who has been in her situation, withheld from society for so long, the harm is greater than you would think. The isolation, for one thing, is not to be recommended.”
“And yet, you found husbands,” he pointed out, not unkindly. “She will survive until spring. Indeed, I am not forbidding her from seeing her friends, I am just erring on the side of caution by not allowing her to attend society events.”
She nodded stiffly. “And I am telling you that it will raise more questions than it answers. Her absence will seem suspicious, particularly an absence of so many months… if you understand my meaning?” She reached to pour more water. “So, if I may, I would urge you to set aside your need to be overly strict with her. Otherwise, you might end up making things worse.”
He stared at her in astonishment, uncertain of which part of her speech bothered him more. There was sense in what she was saying, but the suggestion that he was too strict with his sister stuck in his throat like a fishbone. Of course, a wild woman who cared nothing for rules would not understand why hehadto be strict.
“I know, I know,” she said pre-emptively, “I am not the best example of being raised without firm guidance, but there must be a… balance. I assure you, she is being harder on herself than you could ever be. Let that self-punishment be enough. See if she cannot surprise you.”
Vincent set down his cutlery again, his appetite gone. “Surprise me by choosing another unsuitable sixth son of a baron? Surprise me by deciding that she no longer wants to do as she is told? Surprise me by forgetting the lesson she has learned? She is… capricious, Beatrice. I will not be swayed until she has proven herself trustworthy.”
“She isyoung!” Beatrice urged, a hint of frustration slipping into her voice. “But she is determined to find a duke. She is determined to make it a trio, because that is what she thinks is expected of her, and she does not want to disappoint you. Do not throw that earnest intention back in her face, Vincent.”
He shook his head, his anger rising. “You do not know her as I do, Beatrice. So, please, stay out of it.”
“I cannot,” she replied simply. “I cannot stand by and do nothing when I know you are making a grave mistake.”
He lost his grip on his temper, his irritation doubled by the fact that, this time, she hadnotbeen trying to rile him up. Her confident statement of his shortcomings hit him harder in his vulnerabilities than any sly jest at his expense.
