Page 12 of Defying the Earl
“You might not have invited this situation but here it is, and I think going out for a drive with Braxton or allowing him to escort you to the theatre or some such is the perfect solution. Then you can be seen to quarrel and then it’s over.” The lady’s tone turned dry. “It doesn’t seem like that would be overtaxing your abilities to quarrel with his lordship, does it?”
To Nathan’s surprise the young woman before him actually laughed at Lady Frampton’s words.
“I can see your point there, my lady, but I still think it is a risky proposition.”
Nate could see that the lady was softening toward the idea, or at least coming to see that it might be the only solution.
“I know you didn’t ask for this to happen, but I do hope you can see that your cooperation will help solve the problem.”
He should have remained silent. The amusement seeped from her face, and her gaze was cold as it held his own.
“How do you propose courting me, then, my lord?” she asked, eyebrows elevated, her face no longer revealing her thoughts. “Pretend courting, of course,” she added before sitting back and awaiting his reply.
Nathan grew uncomfortable under the joint stares of all three women in the room. He was well aware that he was in the wrong. He should have had a complete solution prepared before coming to his aunts’ home and telling them about the mess he had made. He should have known none of them would be happy about it. But he hadn’t expected the level of discomfort he felt nor the anticipation that filled him over the thought of spending time with the lovely Lady Beatrice, even if it was under duress and false pretences. For certain he was a fool.
Nate cleared his throat. “Lady Frampton had some good suggestions. I could take you driving at the fashionable hour, perhaps tomorrow? And I could acquire tickets to the theatre. The latest play sounds quite popular from what I’ve heard, although I haven’t yet seen it. We could attend in a couple days. And then perhaps I could host a supper with you three as my guests of honour.”
Beatrice’s mouth opened as though she were going to comment, but then she shut it without saying anything, leaving Nathan to wonder what she had been about to say. He wished they were friends and could tell each other things. But as the lady had said, they were not, and perhaps they never had been.
Chapter Seven
Beatrice suppressed the shiver that wanted to slither up her spine. If she held herself rigid perhaps the impulse would pass quickly. She desperately hoped so, in any case.
Being near Nathan Lawrence, Earl of Braxton was torture in its purest form. He was so handsome and appealing when he wasn’t making ridiculous remarks. The thought of going driving with him or attending the theatre filled her with a mix of both anticipation and dread.
But the Ladies were correct. She might not have invited the situation, but it was still in her lap and had to be dealt with. She tried not to sigh audibly.
“Very well,” she said, proud that only her reluctance could be heard in her voice and not the anticipation that was also confusing her. “We may begin tomorrow.” It gave her a little more sense of security to feel in control of the situation by accepting and dictating the when of it. She didn’t choose to be in his company but by agreeing and setting the appointment, it made her feel a little less victimized by the mess. Lady Frampton was right, it was remarkably similar to other situations in her life over which she had little control. Beatrice quite hated that.
Braxton didn’t seem to notice that she had taken control, though. He stood, bowed, and replied, all in a fluid motion. “I will collect you around four of the clock tomorrow, then.”
That meant she had to live through more than a day of dread and anticipation. Bea didn’t know if she could bear it.
The Ladies didn’t allow her to wallow.
Before Beatrice could fully accept what was happening, they had her dressed and bundled out the door to make calls and do some shopping for small, silly items like feathers for Lady Charlotte’s turbans and ribbons for Lady Frampton’s reticule. They also insisted upon visiting their favouritemodisteand ordering gowns for Beatrice.
Normally Bea would enjoy such fripperies. Today all she could see before her mind’s eye was the spectre of the entiretonmaking light of her situation and taking wagers on who she would end up wed with by the end of the Season.
She did her best not to cast up her accounts whenever the thought crossed her mind but it was a close-run thing, to be sure. The queasiness didn’t subside no matter what Bea did to try to relieve it. Eating, not eating, sipping tea, taking some claret, lying down, reading a book, none of it could eradicate the parade of images in her mind. One that kept resurfacing was Braxton’s face when she had first encountered him at that wretched ball the previous night.
He had been so surprised to see her for the briefest moment and Bea would have sworn that there was at least a flicker of appreciation deep in his gaze when he took in her appearance, but then he had hidden all his feelings and reactions behind a polite expression of greeting. Beatrice had been hurt and embarrassed by his coolness and had returned it tenfold. He hadn’t been completely wrong to say she bore some of the blamefor this mess, she acknowledged only to herself. If she had been at least marginally more polite the other men wouldn’t have taken the least notice of her. Instead, she had hoped to teach him a lesson by giving him the cut.
Who was Beatrice Harrison to be teaching anyone but urchins lessons?
Bea shook her head. She was ridiculous. And now she would most likely be forced into marriage within weeks. And she only had herself to blame.
Well, there was plenty of blame to pass around to others, of course, but she should have known better. A girl in her position needed to keep her nose out of the air. Who was she to put on airs? She wasn’t the cossetted granddaughter of the Earl of Houndseith any longer. She was an orphan and a paid companion. That was it. That was all anyone saw or acknowledged about her. Certainly, that was all that Braxton wanted to know about her.
And it was fine, Bea insisted to herself. She was still a human. She still held value, whether fashionable Society thought so or not. She had a well engaged mind, Bea reminded herself. Surely, she could find a solution that did not require her to marry by summertime. Or at least she could take control back and choose the gentleman herself.
Perhaps, as Braxton had implied, it might be amusing to be courted by gentlemen. It needn’t be an ordeal. There were likely to be flowers and candies and outings. And who didn’t enjoy some new gowns? It could be viewed as a lark rather than the death knell on the life she had been anticipating.
Perhaps marriage could be better than a lonely cottage on her own. There was the likelihood of children at the very least. Even if they weren’t her own, she thought, thinking back to the onlysort of gentlemen who had ever courted her in the past. At the time she had been put off by the thought of only being a free servant in a man’s household. But now she was starting to see the glimmer of honour that could be found in such a position. As she well knew, no one should be motherless. Perhaps she was being selfish to reject such an offer. Surely, she could find one that wouldn’t be dreadful.
But on the other hand, didn’t she deserve a fresh new husband? She might not have made her debut the traditional way, but she was still a noblewoman. Even a noblewoman with a generous dowry, if anyone were to inquire. It was actually hard to believe that no one had.
Why had the gossipmongers never realized that she was a noble heiress?
