by Amy Quinton
How did one come to terms with all that was lost? Even if Dansbury and his sister were reunited tomorrow, they would never be able to make up for those years apart. Missed birthdays. Growing up. A first tooth. A first step. A first love. A first fall.
Beatryce laughed. It was all ironic coming from her. As if she knew what it was like. Ha. To share birthdays with people you love? To miss your family? Who was she to know? She was on her own herself. Always had been, but worse, for her father had actually been around. She would gladly give anything to trade places with Dansbury’s sister. No question.
And she was beginning to know Dansbury. She knew he would have been a wonderful older brother. Protective. Honorable. God, she envied his sister, because even though they didn’t yet know each other, they would. One day they would. And wasn’t that the ultimate in self-centeredness? To envy them the happiness denied them so long through the machinations of evil men.
She hadn’t seen Dansbury since yesterday afternoon’s monumental revelations. They’d all retired to their rooms soon after, and by unspoken agreement, took dinner in their own chambers that night.
Now, it was passing noon of the next day. She’d awoken several hours earlier, still tired, but hungry. She’d been pleased to see a simple morning gown, with all the accompanying feminine garments, lying at the foot of her bed. She’d wondered if they’d burned the dress she’d arrived in. She didn’t think even the best maid could see it properly cleaned. She certainly hadn’t slept in it—it would have soiled the sheets irreparably.
She’d been the only one to come down to breakfast, and she hadn’t seen a soul save for the servants since. And who’d want to see the servants?
Bea immediately chastised herself for the thought. It was an unkind sentiment, even unspoken, and a carryover from a lifetime of influence from her father. It shamed her, that habit. She needed to break it. Dansbury had been right; servants were people too. She hated the fact that she’d been indoctrinated into believing they were inferior. She’d never given a thought of it before Dansbury had pointed out the error of her ways.
And those types of mean thoughts had been ingrained in her for so long, they were now a bad habit…something she would have to work to change. And she would. She didn’t want to be cruel. It would take time, but she was up to the task.
In the meantime, she was beginning to worry about Dansbury and Lady Harriett.
She decided to seek out Lady Harriett first.
* * * *
“He’s been hiding in the library, writing missives since early this morning. I think he’s determined to find his sister.”
“Oh.” Lady Harriett had answered her unspoken question the moment Bea walked through the door to her private parlor. They were now comfortably ensconced in two wing back chairs in front of the fire taking tea. And by tea, she meant coffee. Lady Harriett adored coffee, and Bea found she preferred it as well. Father had never allowed the Beckett family to partake. The childish girl inside her silently stuck her tongue out at his memory as she enjoyed another sip.
Take that, you bastard.
“I’ve watched you, you know. From afar.” Beatryce nearly choked on her coffee.
Well, what did one say to that?
“I’ve noticed what others haven’t—or refused—to see. You are strong. And determined.”
Bea wanted to beam with pride despite the dour mood permeating the air in the house.
“…I realize you were quite, quite desperate.”
Yes. She was. Or had been.
But it was one thing to know it yourself. And something else to know someone else had noticed it, too. As if their witness to your desperation made it all more real.
When you are the only one to know it, you can embrace a touch of denial during the times when circumstances threaten to drown you in your inner turmoil.
“I don’t blame you, gel. Not one bit.”
Bea felt silent tears sliding down her cheeks. Until yesterday, she hadn’t cried since she was fourteen. She didn’t like it. It made her feel vulnerable when she should be spending every minute rejoicing over her newfound freedom. She’d waited an eternity to be so free.
“Lady H…”
“Pshaw. Call me Auntie Harriett.” Lady Harriett looked at her, considering. It was a thoughtful look, though sad as her eyes were still puffy and tinged with red. She handed over a handkerchief. “I like you.”
Now, that was a surprise.
But even more surprising was her sudden desperate need to unburden herself to this woman. To expose her weaknesses and her greatest fears. It was a novel feeling. Beatryce took the proffered cloth and dabbed at her eyes.
“Lady…Aunt Harriett. I-I don’t know what to say. I don’t de…”
“Stop right there, young lady. Don’t you dare, for one minute, think that I’m going to let you suggest you don’t deserve my admiration. I have half a mind to take you over my knee…see if I can’t.”
Beatryce nearly laughed, inappropriate as that would have been. She knew her own worth. She just never expected others to know it. She all but handed Aunt Harriett an excuse to find her lacking, “But with my past…”
“To hell with your past. Maybe I don’t know the extent of your history. But I can make a fairly accurate guess. If I were you, I’d have gone to the same lengths as you to see myself married to Stonebridge and out from under my father’s thumb. Perhaps I’d have taken it even further. I’m sure I would have sent Grace away the moment I met her. Just in case, mind, for that gel is a great beauty to be sure. Knowing I’d have sent her away though? That is saying something because I love that gel.
“But you see, after what I’ve lived through, I know good and evil can be cloaked by complicated masks. I’ve learned the hard way to look beneath the surface. Most don’t.” She looked at Beatryce now. “Pity that. For I’m sure your desperate measures have overshadowed recognition of your true spirit and your determination.”
Aunt Harriett shook her head. “Your father’s mask covered a barbaric, hateful man. Gracious, even his mask was unpleasant, he didn’t even try to hide that.”
“The man was a monster.” Bea agreed.
“Indeed.” Aunt Harriett reached over and squeezed her hand. It was a touching gesture. Then, she carried on. “Now, pull yourself together and find that inner strength I know is in there. And never doubt yourself again, or I’ll be disappointed in you. Might take it in my head to beat you with my Umbrella. Ask Stonebridge. He’s felt the end of The Umbrella on more than one occasion in the past.
“Besides,” she continued, “Dansbury’s going to need you…”
This time, Bea did choke on her coffee. It was bad timing to take a sip just at that precise moment. Did Aunt Harriett refer to Dansbury’s own secrets?
And Dansbury? Need her? “La, I appreciate your confidence, but Dansbury is a strong man.”
“Well, I’m glad you’ve noticed. I’m sure you’ve figured out by now that Dansbury has led a reasonably charmed life. Yes, he lost his parents and his brother quite young, but he was never alone. He had me. He had good friends. Other than that, he’s never had to work hard to succeed; it comes naturally to him.
“But by now, he’ll have realized that Stonebridge has known all about his family’s connection to the Society for some time. And Dansbury, for all his charm and easygoing manner believes quite strongly in trust. He trusts openly and completely. So this, betrayal, will be hard on him. I wouldn’t be surprised if he feels a bit of resentment toward me this morning as well…”
“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…”
Chapter 30
“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.
Chapter 31
“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.
