Page 27 of The Duke's Impetuous Darling
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The next morning, snow fell in lacy white flakes over the meadows. With the skies grey and forbidding, the temperature freezing and the wind howling around the eaves, Aunt Gertrude decreed that skating was struck from the festivities this afternoon.
Once more Bee felt relief wash through her. She didn't have to pretend that she liked her promised partner, Lord Hallerton. In fact, since last night before supper, when he'd cornered her in the upstairs hall, she preferred not to be near him at all. He'd attempted to kiss her and she'd rebuffed him with haste.
Today, said her aunt at luncheon—though Griff frowned at her announcement—the guests would adjourn to the card room for games.
Marjorie stole a glance at Bee, then led the way into the room.
"Do you not play?" asked Eliza Kent of Bee as the guests filed out of the dining room.
"No. I wouldn't know the first thing about it."
"I’m a terrible gambler." The red-haired beauty sighed. "I think I shall go read. A good afternoon to sit before the fire, don't you think?"
When Bee agreed, the young woman headed for the stairs and her rooms. Delphine had done the same as had Neville Vaughn, Lord Bromley.
"Marjorie seems keen to play." Alastair stepped to her side. Bee had seen him at breakfast, a wide smile of welcome for him. He'd responded with less enthusiasm than she and she took it as her due for refusing his suit. She must get used to his indifference, she told herself, but was hollow at his loss. "Will you?"
"No. I leave such feats to Marjorie."
"Is she any good?"
"Excellent."
"Hmmm."
"Why do you ask?"
"Griff doesn't like her playing."
"Ah. He told you that?"
"Not in so many words." Alastair narrowed his gaze on her younger sister who spoke with a few of the men. "Does she cheat?"
Bee crossed her arms. "She says not."
"Well then. We must trust her, mustn't we?"
"Wait,” she blurted. “Are you avoiding me?”
He surveyed her with surprise in the depths of his arresting brown eyes. "Why? Do you miss me?"
"I do," she admitted on a long sigh.
"How good to learn." Then as she watched, he bowed and left her to join in a game of Hazard.
Deserted by him, Bee straightened her spine and marched up to her room. A good book seemed the perfect companion to cure her loneliness.
By supper, she was livid. Or sad. Or frustrated. How could she have been so unkind, so short-sighted? She cared for him madly and he seemed now indifferent.
Her supper partners were a gentleman, a Mr. Mark Trevelyan, a bachelor of some means whose estate was near Lewes, and Major Lord Bromley, Neville Vaughn.
Since Bromley and Bee had last met, he had inherited his father's title of viscount, as well as fought in the wars. This was the first opportunity Bee had to talk with him privately. She’d met him once briefly in London after he’d courted Delphine. Three years ago, as their father fell ill and his behavior became talk of the town, Delphine had met Bromley at a friend's home. She’d been terribly young and impressionable. For her, it had been love at first sight. For Bromley, as Delphine told it, he declared his love and desire to marry her. But his father refused, demanding he marry an heiress. And he had. Bee wondered where his viscountess might be, but good manners required she not ask.
"I imagine you are surprised to see me here," he said in a solemn tone.
"We had no word of you, only that we did not see your name among the wounded, lost or missing." Delphine had combed the casualty lists and told them her delight that he was not listed and must be well. "We're very pleased you're here. And whole."
