Page 4 of The Trials of Alaric
“I meant no offense, my lady,” he assured her. “I am truly grateful for your rescue and your hospitality.”
“You need to rest, Mr. Redhaven,” Dr. Bryant declared. “We shall leave you to Gilno’s care. Lady Beatrice, you mentioned thekitchen maid’s burn. Shall we have a look and see why it is not healing?”
The doctor was correct. Alaric was exhausted. He allowed Gilno to assist him and was soon sinking into the blackness of sleep, his last thoughts lingering on the lovely Lady Beatrice.
*
Bea had beenlucky last night. She had managed to get Mr. Redhaven up the stairs and into his bedchamber without being seen by her parents or any of the guests and had even been able to dress for dinner and arrive downstairs before her mother became testy.
It was midafternoon before Bea’s mother discovered that the household had acquired a guest. Bea had been meaning to tell her, but the countess did not emerge from her bedchamber until after eleven, and then immediately summoned Beatrice to her sitting room.
Before Bea could introduce the subject of Mr. Redhaven, her mother said, “This rain means we cannot have our planned excursion into the town, Beatrice. We will need to make alternative arrangements. I thought some games in the long gallery. Archery, perhaps, dear, and skittles. You know the sort of thing. Then we can have music and perhaps charades in the large drawing room. Make the arrangements, there’s a dear.”
“Mama, I need to tell you—”
“Not now, dear. Our guests will be looking for amusement soon, and I have no time to waste, and neither have you. I must dress, and you must pass on my instructions to the servants. Hurry along, Beatrice.”
What instructions? Mama gave no thought to what was possible or how to put her ideas into practice. That was Bea’s job, with Mrs. Johnson and dear Skelly as her lieutenants. Bea had,of course, made contingency plans for poor weather, but archery and skittles had not been on the list, so she would have to scurry to make things happen.
Ah well, she would tell Mama about Mr. Redhaven later.
But first, she must speak to Cook, for they had been planning to purchase food at the town market while they were out, and now the kitchen would have to add a range of savory and sweet delights for those guests who had not fully satisfied their appetites in the breakfast room, where most of them were now gathered.
Once refreshments were organized, she moved on to the long gallery where she rallied some footmen to move any furniture, ornaments, or paintings that might be damaged by a stray arrow or ball from the long gallery into adjacent rooms and set up the room into zones for the planned activities. Skittles at one end, archery at the other, with the contestants facing away from the middle of the room, and the doors at each end of the gallery locked and bolted to avoid accidents.
Then lawn chess in the middle, and also space for blindman’s bluff and musical chairs. For which they would need an instrument, so she sent for one of the small harpsichords. She would ask Aunt Joan to play.
She left the servants hurrying to and fro marking out the boundaries of each activity and setting up the equipment and moved on. The drawing room was simple enough. Enough chairs for those assembled, all set up and facing the row of doors to the music room, which she opened ready for music and then charades.
She had better tell Mrs. Johnson that a second round of comestibles should be served with tea and coffee in the drawing room in time for people to arrive from the long gallery. And then, perhaps, a glass of wine or some other such drink after charades before people went up to change for dinner.
The small drawing room was her next destination. The guests gathered there at around noon every morning. Mama would greet them all, once she was dressed, confident that she could announce the changed program to her guests, and that everything would proceed without a hitch.
Which it always had, though Mama had never troubled herself with ways and means. Aunt Joan had always been the moving force behind Mama’s successful house parties, and she had trained Bea to take over from her.
After that, her time was taken up with The Suitors, all of whom wanted her attention, or, rather, the attention of the Heiress of Claddach.
There were five of them, all invited so Bea could choose one to be the next lord of Claddach—in fact, if not in name. Her father had been firm. “You must marry, Beatrice, and you have consistently argued against going to London, so we have come up with a solution.”
He had held up a hand to silence her when she would have protested. “Your mother and her sister will select appropriate candidates to come here for a house party. It is my hope you will find one of them suitable. You are in your twenties. Your mother assures me your marriageability decreases by the year. Your breeding potential is also reducing, and it is your task, your most important task, to give birth to the next Earl of Claddach. Preferably while the current earl is still above ground.”
Mama would never have been so blunt, but the cattle of Claddach were Papa’s pride and joy, and clearly, he thought of her, too, as he did of his prize heifers.
Her father had been happy enough to encourage her to follow him and his land steward all over the island, to study the books, to argue the time of planting and the best new bull for the herd. He had even, in recent years, handed many of his local tasks overto her so that he and Mama could spend more time in Mama’s beloved London.
But Bea would never be the boy Papa had wanted. At best, she was only a place holder for her eldest son, the next Earl of Claddach. Ach, she was being unfair. She knew her father loved her, but he had no confidence in her ability—or in any woman’s ability—to protect Claddach from the politicians in London without a male to represent her at court and in the clubs where the gentlemen gathered.
She understood why Papa was anxious about what he called her breeding potential, too. Papa had delayed marriage until he was in his forties and had then married a childless widow in her thirties. Several months later, Papa’s older brother had died in a shipwreck with his wife and two sons, and Mama’s age became a matter for concern. Papa was convinced Mama’s age was the reason she had given birth to only one child. Disappointingly, a girl.
And now Papa was unwell. She did not wish to believe him mortal, but she would not shy away from reality, either. The doctor said a cancer was eating away at his gut. She would be Countess of Claddach sooner than any of them had hoped.
Bea sighed. Papa was right. Producing a son should not be put off much longer, definitely not for more than a year or two, and if it had to be done, why not do it now? And to produce a son who could be her heir, she had first to marry. And, to have a male who could represent himself as her protector when her father was no longer in this life, she would have to marry. There was no way around it.
So, the house party went ahead, with the possible candidates for her hand plus a few other people to make up the numbers. She had already told her father her opinion of the candidates. Her father had told her she was being picky.
Papa had investigated the twenty names on the list Mama and Mama’s sister Aunt Lewiston had written. “I removed the town fops, the idiots, and the fortune hunters,” he had said. “Any of the five who have accepted your Mama’s invitation would be a suitable father for your sons and consort for the Countess of Claddach when I am gone. Pick one. Draw a name out of a hat. Hold a contest.”
“Perhaps we should have a tournament, like the knights of old,” she had retorted. “Or you could chain me to a rock for a dragon to eat and give me to man who kills the dragon.”
