What the Marquess Sees (22 page)

“Nonsense, I…”

“Oh, don’t try to placate me. I don’t like it. I prefer to call things like I see them. If you think otherwise, then I might be forced to reassess my good opinion of you.”

Beatryce smiled, duly chastised. “It won’t happen again.”

“Good.” Aunt Harriett all but snorted; she certainly lifted her chin. “See that it doesn’t.” Then, they both laughed.

For a moment, they were content to sip their coffee quietly and ponder everything that’d happened to lead them to this moment. Beatryce thought about the things Aunt Harriett didn’t know. Bea suspected Aunt Harriett didn’t know about the secrets the assassin implied he would reveal.

And she didn’t know the secret Beatryce had yet to disclose either; the one that would affect them both—Harriett and Dansbury.

Bea came to a decision; she decided to tell her. Aunt Harriett would know what to do.

Beatryce set down her cup, clenched her hands together, and sat tall in order to drop her bomb with dignity.

“Aunt Harriett. I know how to find his sister, your niece…”

“Silence is one of the great arts of conversation.”

―Marcus Tullius Cicero

After her third knock on the library door, Bea called out, “Dansbury. It’s Beatryce.”

Still no answer, blast the man.

Well, she had tried. Clearly, the courteous route was not going to get her very far this afternoon. So it wasn’t really her fault she would have to be rude and enter the room uninvited.

Bea opened the door and walked in despite the fact that Dansbury had not given her leave to enter. She caught a quick glimpse of him—quill midair, shirt sleeves rolled up, no jacket, no cravat, and mouth practically hanging open—before she averted her eyes and studied the room. She didn’t bother to clarify why she’d entered the room without his permission. And he didn’t ask her for an explanation.

The room was warm but cavernous, with walnut shelves from floor to ceiling covering most available wall space save for the window in front of her, overlooking the back garden, and a fireplace on the wall to her left. Every shelf was filled with books. Lots and lots of books. Bea inhaled a deep breath. She could smell old leather and lemon oil. The smell was divine. She’d escaped reality many times between the pages of a good book. She was a closet bluestocking.

She stepped forward onto a plush, ornate area rug. The pile, thick and lush. It begged to be touched. She toed off her shoes and then stood there, wiggling her toes into the soft fibers. She heard a strangled cough come from somewhere in Dansbury’s direction. She could imagine him staring at her toes. It almost startled a chuckle out of her. She chose to ignore him and began walking around the room.

Two club chairs made for a comfortable seating area before the hearth. And two more were situated in front of the desk behind which Dansbury was sitting, his back to the window. She ignored the chairs—and Dansbury—and continued to explore the room.

After a few minutes, she heard Dansbury resume writing. Neither of them had said a word. Eventually, after circumnavigating the entire room, she sat in a chair before the desk and picked up a book that was lying on the table beside her.
The Mysteries of Udolpho
by Ann Radcliffe.

Hmmm.
An interesting choice to be left out on the table. Gothic romance? The women of the ton unanimously frowned upon Ms. Radcliffe’s novels as sensational nonsense. It figures Aunt Harriett would disregard popular opinion.

Bea had secretly loved and read every one of Ms. Radcliffe’s novels. She’d read this one a dozen times at the very least.

She opened the book and proceeded to thumb through the pages while Dansbury continued to write.

They carried on that way in companionable silence for half an hour at least. Bea jumped straight to her favorite passages while D played spy.

After a while, she set the book aside and drummed her fingers on the arms of her chair as she looked around the room once more. Dansbury had stopped writing. He was looking at her. She could feel his regard. She pretended to ignore him.

He was the first to break the silence. “I sent a missive to Stonebridge, summoning him here. I suspect he’ll arrive in a few days.”

She looked at him now and laced her arms in front of her, elbows resting on the arms of her chair. “That sounds wise. Are you sure he’ll…” He raised one brow at her and offered her a boyish, almost charming grin. As if to say,
Are you really questioning my capabilities
, but in a teasing manner.

“Oh. Of course, my mistake.” She couldn’t help but smile in return, a sort of half smile, and lower her eyes. He was ridiculously charming when he wanted to be. They shared a few more silent looks between them, exchanging entire thoughts without saying a single word. It was uncanny. Yet it felt good to share a smile or two after yesterday.

“Tomorrow, I’m taking you to Bath. To the Pump Room.”

She heard a small amount of hesitation in his voice.

“Oh my. The Pump Room. La, how grand. Well, that should definitely cause quite a stir if that is your aim.”

“I am depending on it.”

“…especially wearing my lovely oversized sack dress.” She grinned at the imagery. “Perhaps you could wear yours as well, and then we’ll really set the old ladies on fire.” Now, she was ready to laugh. The images playing out in her mind were simply hilarious.

Dansbury chuckled. It helped to penetrate some of the pall that still clung to the air. “Perhaps another time. I’ve sent a maid and a footman to a friend’s house in town. They’ll bring back something appropriate for you to wear by tonight. The maids can make any alterations necessary by tomorrow.”

“My. How enterprising. A friend you say?”

“A friend.” He didn’t explain. She didn’t push for a more descriptive answer.

“Well, I can’t wait to see what they uncover.” She shook her head at him, amazed at his ability to get whatever he wanted. To make things happen the way he wanted them to, no matter how far-fetched his plan. He truly did lead a charmed life. Or had. She forced away the frown that threatened. “So, I assume our goal is to stir up gossip. Let the bad guys, so to speak, know where we are.”

“Yes. Though I have no doubt they already know where we are. Our traitor has followed us. I’m quite sure he knew where we were headed long before we left our humble abode yesterday.

“No, my point is to send them a stronger message than that. I want them to know that we are here and that we are not going to hide away in fear.”

She looked at him carefully for a moment, then shook her head. She looked at her hands, now clasped in her lap, and said, “No. That’s not quite it, is it?” She looked back up at Dansbury and waved one of her hands in the air, as if what she was about to say was a trifling, superficial thing, and said, “La, Dansbury, you must think I’m bottle-headed.” She straightened, looked him in the eye, and poked her finger into the arm of her chair as she spoke—the better to emphasize her point. “You’re putting us out there as bait.”

It wasn’t a question.

“All human actions have one or more of these seven causes: chance, nature, compulsions, habit, reason, passion, desire.”

―Aristotle

The Pump Room…

Bath, England…

It wasn’t quite a London ball. But it was the place to see and be seen in Bath. Everyone who was anyone in high society—or at least visiting Bath at the time—was present and accounted for. Yes, there was even a Subscription Book one could peruse which listed all who were present in town at the time.

Oh, the nobility and their quest for tribute and distinction.

How ironic that in doing so, they achieved the opposite effect. Bea brushed aside the sudden image of dancing sheep dressed in the latest fashions. Her lips twitched in amusement at the thought.

Baa.

Beatryce entered the Pump Room on Dansbury’s arm via the North Colonnade. She was nervous despite her colorful imaginings. People would talk. And stare. Sure, she and Cliff were counting on it, but it didn’t mean she looked forward to facing that prospect in reality.

As anticipated, as soon as they stepped out of the anteroom and into the great room, the people around them paused to stare. And like a ripple across water, silence descended down and across the length and breadth of the room, which was significant as the room was well over sixty feet long and more than forty feet wide. The undulation rapidly spread until every corner and nearly everyone in between was silent and homed in on them. Just them. As if they had taken center stage. Naked.

She almost chuckled again at her fanciful imagery. Almost.

The only sound at all was the music from the orchestra who, surprisingly, continued playing in the musician’s gallery as if nothing at all was amiss. Everyone else had stopped as if frozen in time, living statues of curiosity and grace with mouths practically agape in shock and awe. Some held glasses aloft as if about to take their next sip. Others held on to each other, immobilized mid-dance.

Of course they were surprised.

Hmmm, let’s see…
She had all but disappeared from society. She and the groom skipped out on their own wedding—on their wedding day. Father had died, and she hadn’t attended the funeral. Oh, and now, she was out socializing, in azure silk, no less, and not at home, wearing black. In mourning. La, if she’d had any desire to ever return to society in the future, that possibility had just been destroyed. She would be lucky if the lot of them didn’t snub her completely right here and now.

And funnily enough, she didn’t care. But she didn’t want to witness it firsthand, either.

The air inside the Pump Room was thick and hot. From the hot spring water as much as the overcrowded room, which was swarming with people. Or would be swarming, if they’d quit gawking and move.

Beatryce felt vertigo pressing in on all sides, regardless of the fact that the room was light and bright thanks to huge windows running down the north side of the room. She looked about, searching for anything that might steady her resolve, and only just stopped from fanning herself. She couldn’t help but squirm as she felt a trickle of sweat slide down her back. How could they all stand this heat? Or endure the smell of mineral and sulfur for more than a moment? Bea wanted desperately to pull out her handkerchief and cover her nose. Which was saying something considering the state of the dress she’d been wearing only days before.

Oh, the things one did to be fashionable.

Together, Bea and Dansbury stepped further into the room, maneuvering around living effigies and nodding to everyone they knew. Many returned the sentiment, but with obvious reservation.

Midway up the length of the room and to their right, stood the infamous fountain, flanked by two fireplaces, where women filled glasses from the fountain and gave them to the young or old and infirm, which appeared to be everyone here save for the people who’d been dancing prior to their arrival.

La, even the women working had paused in the midst of carrying out their duties in order to watch the Bea and Dansbury taproom concert. Again, she felt her lips twitch with mirth.

It was no matter, the men and women accepting the proffered glasses weren’t paying any attention either, their gazes all narrowed in on her.

Zounds.

By unspoken agreement, she and Dansbury turned toward each other, blocking out their audience, and like a switch, everyone resumed talking at once.

Ah. Let the gossiping begin.

Beatryce pasted on a smile and led Dansbury over to the Dowager Duchess of Lyme who was sitting midway down the room between two massive windows.

Beatryce curtsied. “Your Grace.”

The dowager raised her lorgnette and looked Bea over from head to toe. “Ah, Lady Beatryce. What a surprise to see you here. Why are you here? And where are you staying?”

“La, I’m staying with Lady Harriett Ross at Bloomfield Park. I believe you are friends?” She risked absolute banishment and ignored the dowager’s first question.

The dowager simply harrumphed and turned to acknowledge Dansbury. He took her hand and bowed over it. “Your Grace.”

“Dansbury. You’ve looked better. How is your aunt?”

“Well. She’s doing quite well, thank you for asking. Fine weather we’re experiencing for this time of year, I daresay?”

Her reply could not be heard above the sound of clapping as the orchestra played the last notes of their piece. Beatryce was just stunned that the old gal hadn’t forced the issue of her aborted wedding, or her father’s murder. Not that she wanted to see these topics raised. Maybe she should count her blessings instead of worrying over negative outcomes that hadn’t materialized.

After dispensing with the social niceties, Dansbury leaned over and whispered, “Let’s dance,” just as the orchestra began playing the first bars of a waltz.

Beatryce swore a muffled gasp could be heard across the room as they made their way out onto the dance floor. But for some reason, the sound didn’t bother her. For the first time in her life, she felt an inkling of what it was like to be free. Free to do as she would. The feeling was good.

No, the feeling was liberating. She started her dance with Dansbury, walking on air.

She’d danced the waltz over a thousand times or more. Yet today felt like the first. Better, actually. Maybe it was her newfound sense of freedom. Or maybe it was the man holding her in his arms. She looked up and watched him. For the first time ever, she didn’t look about her while she danced, wondering who was watching or what they were thinking. She didn’t check to see whether or not they were going to run into another couple. She practiced trust. In him.

He was keeping an eye out for them, and she took the opportunity to study his face. She knew his eyes were brown, but now, she could see that his irises were peppered with gold and green streaks, and that the entire thing was ringed in black. Startling. Complex. Like the man.

His forehead was high and wide, with a telltale round scar, probably from a childhood case of the chickenpox. His lips were full, his jaw squared. He was a broad, strong man. It was amazing how smoothly he danced. She glanced down at his large feet, and she inexplicably wondered what his bare feet looked like. Would his toes be perfectly formed, like the man? Of course, she’d seen him naked more than once, but she’d been focused on other more interesting parts of his anatomy…ahem…or it was simply too dark to see them properly. Bea laughed out loud at her odd, ridiculous thoughts.