The older woman looked askance as she watched the young girl come down from her lofty perch. Beatrice could see the look of shock in the nurse’s eyes. The woman’s brow creased, her mouth pursed in a tight frown, as Lord Fenwick, the heir to the Duke of Norwich’s title, disappeared after a quick and formal “good day.” When he was gone, Gertrude Chisolm was quick to admonish Beatrice.
“Good heavens, what have you done to that dress? And where are your shoes? It will not do to have you parading about in that state if you are to be acquainted with the likes of a marquis. Oh and bless my soul if his mother, the duchess, should have seen you in such a terrible state! It will be terrible for you if your mother sees you; she will never let you out of the house again. And another thing, young miss, about the acorns. Do not think that you were not seen. Oh, I saw you well enough, and I wished that I had not seen what you were doing. It was unbecoming of you! Throwing acorns at the young master. I hoped that I was wrong, but I can see that you were truly behaving like a girl many years younger than you are! I should have seen that you were scolded and told your mother to send you to bed without dinner for that, and not let you out for days, but I hoped nothing would come of it. What manner of spell did you cast on him to have him tell me such a falsehood? You, helping him to study? Indeed. Such a base deceit and from one so young!”
Beatrice’s triumphant smile was soon replaced by an expression of horror. The idea that she should be locked away in her room on a day as beautiful as this one was too terrible. Not when the boy next door had suddenly become her champion, for what reason, she did not know. How she longed to discover more about him, but her curiosity would have to wait, for now Gertrude Chisolm was glowering at her in a most alarming way.
“Please, do not tell Mother. I was so bored, and there was nothing to do. I promise that I will behave as I ought, I promise to try to be a proper lady.”
The older woman, whose rosy round cheeks and red hair made her look rather frightful when she was angered or aggravated, looked red and incensed, but she exhaled. Her scowl softened, the crinkles around her eyes relaxed, as she said, “I suppose for one so young, there is not much to be done in Bath. I pray that only his lordship saw you in this dreadful condition and no one else will think that you are an undisciplined little heathen running about the garden. I shall not tell your mother or your governess, but I must have your word that you will not give me cause to regret that decision. Do I have your word?”
Beatrice summoned her most solemn sounding voice, as she pledged, “I will behave as I should.”
“Very well, then suggest you use the servants’ stairs and make your way to your room as quickly and quietly as you can.”
“Thank you!” exclaimed Beatrice, as she embraced Gertrude Chisolm in a manner that was not exactly in keeping with decorum but was not met with censure.
Rushing to gather her bonnet, her gloves, and her shoes, she thought about the boy who lived on the other side of the wall and whom she had met, the boy across the garden wall. With the prospect of punishment no longer looming like a specter, she was now free to wonder about him. He was rather strange, but she did not mind. She had often been called odd and willful. Perhaps they were suited to be friends despite the difference in age. Sneaking into her house, and up the narrow servants’ stairs, she made a promise to herself that she would discover all there was to know about him. He would become her friend, and that was an end to it. Perhaps, she reasoned, he already thought of her as his friend; he did lie for her, did he not? Buoyed by that knowledge, she made her way past maids, who were startled by her presence on the stairs and her state of dress as she rushed to her bedroom. There, she was safe and sound with the young lord to thank, and Gertrude Chisolm too for allowing her to escape the wrath of her mother.
2
A week of wind and rain passed and Beatrice was unable to return to the garden. Her governess made a rapid recovery and was once again fully committed to continuing Beatrice’s studies, which nearly managed to keep Beatrice’s attention from her new acquaintance — nearly. For a week, Beatrice tried to honor her promise to Gertrude Chisolm, to remain well behaved, as a proper daughter of a wealthy merchant ought to act, but she longed to see Lord Fenwick. Lord Fenwick seemed like such a funny name for a boy who was not much older than her, but she supposed that was not unusual for Bath. There were many things about Bath she did not understand, like him, she reasoned. Unlike the questions she had about the bustling town, she wanted to learn more about him to discover why he deceived an adult on her behalf.
A week later, when the rains cleared and her studies were at an end for the afternoon, she found herself drawn to the garden wall. This time, she found the reception to be far more hospitable than the last time she stood on the bench and gazed at him. He beckoned her to join him for tea. This time, she did not remove her bonnet or her gloves, and she managed to retain her shoes as she climbed over the garden wall. The very idea she should use a door or enter through the front of his residence did not occur to her as she rushed to join him, plopping down in a chair at a table under the oak tree.
He greeted her with a smile as he invited her to have tea. She accepted, and within a few minutes after savoring a cup of tea with sugar and a delightful radish and cheese sandwich, she untied the ribbon of her bonnet. Placing it on the table beside the teapot, she proclaimed, “There, that is better. It is far too warm a day for that dreary hat.”
"You say that you are not yet nine years? I presumed you to be much older that you were surely eleven years or twelve," the boy, who was also a marquis, said as he studied her while he poured a cup of tea.
"How funny you are; most people say that I look younger. I am rather small. My governess, Miss Upton, claims that I shall be like my mother, and she is not nearly as tall as my father.”
“You must be clever; you do not speak like a child. Perhaps that is why presumed you were nearly my own age. Not that I have much experience with children. I have no brothers or sisters,” he explained.
“I have a brother. He is older than me, and desperately boring these days. What with his studies and his tutors, he has no time for me or anything but his books.” Miss Beatrice sighed.
“I must appear to be boring. I have tutors, more than I care to discuss. I wish to go away to school, but my mother will not part with me. Nor will my father. I am to be the next duke, you see. They insist that they oversee everything I read, or write, or do, it would seem,” he sighed.
“That sounds terrible,” she said between bites of a tart. “Do you not have time for games?”
He shook his head, “No time for anything other than my studies. Becoming a duke is not an easy task; I do not presume for you to understand.”
“I would rather be a duke. I have never seen anyone speak to an older person the way you did. Is that what you meant by rank?”
Shrugging, he laughed. "Oh? That was nothing. When I am a duke, I shall be able to order people about."
“Is that why you looked unhappy? Because you never play games or go riding, but you only prepare to tell everyone what to do? That does not sound like it would be amusing at all.”
“No, it does not sound amusing, but it is my duty.”
“My duty is to learn how to play the piano, sing, draw, and learn three languages. I am supposed to learn how to dance. What do you have to learn?” she asked, staring at him with fascination.
Sighing, he replied, “I would rather not think about it; it all rather boring.”
“Is that why you were so cross when I first saw you? You haven’t any amusement other than your studies?” Beatrice asked, as she brushed the tart crumbs from her dress then removed her glove. “I hope you won’t tell anyone, but I detest wearing a bonnet and gloves. It seems so silly. How am supposed to be able to climb trees, or play cricket?”
He laughed, a hearty sound, as he exclaimed, “You play cricket? Why you’re a girl and a small one at that! I tell you, I don’t believe it, but it is an amusing idea.�
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“You may believe it. I used to watch my brother play and all of his friends. I know I am a girl and I am not supposed to, but I have played with some of the village boys at our house in Kent. Not my friends who are girls, mind you; they refuse to play. Promise me, give me your solemn oath that you won’t tell anyone my secret. I don’t know why I supposed that I could trust you. If my mother knew or her nurse, I would be in heaps of trouble.”
“You risk trouble and punishment to play games as the boys do? You are a most unusual girl. I should have suspected that you would be. What proper young woman climbs garden walls?”
“That is a terrible thing to say. I wish I knew if you and I were to be friends or not. The day I met you, you threatened to have me punished, but then you championed me before Miss Chisolm, and now you are cross again and insulting,” she proclaimed with a saucy tilt of her head.
“If I am cross, it is not because of you. I rarely play cricket or much else. About being a proper young woman, I find them all boring and tedious. They never do anything but stare at me and whisper. No, that was not meant to give offense.”
“Than what was it?” she asked defiantly and not yet ready to give up her indignation.
“A compliment. You know all about those? Or do you spend so much of your time snubbing the rules that you know more scolding than compliments?”
Smiling, she answered, “I’m often told I’m willful and headstrong, that I am disobedient but that I am smart for a girl. I wonder what that means?”
“That you are a lot older than your years. I know that we do not have any proper cricket bats or players for a team, but maybe we can have a rousing game of ball or some other amusement? I have taken a break for tea time, and I am desperate for some kind of physical exercise before I am forced to return to my German lesson, and then there is the tedious subject of mathematics. What would you devise? I think I have a ball lying about somewhere in the garden shed.”
"Bring me a ball, and I shall invent a game, what do you say?" she asked intrigued.
“Very well, a game we shall have,” he declared, as he was soon on his feet and away to shed she had not noticed on her last brief visit to the garden.
Ten minutes later, they were rushing about the green expanse of lawn in the garden, laughing and making merry. Neither observed the time or the noise that such playfulness and childish abandon caused. Nor did they observe the quiet, unannounced arrival of a certain older woman, who looked dissatisfied and wain and who appeared to stand by the table where the tea had been set and abandoned like the pile of books beside the young master’s chair. Books, he should have been studying after he had his tea.
“I should never have permitted him to have his lessons and his tea outside, like a perfect ruffian he has become,” the woman, who was dressed in a somber grey afternoon dress, her neck bejeweled and her head covered in the finest Belgian lace, clasped at her delicate embroidered handkerchief as she raised it over her mouth to cover a cough. A cough that did little to attract the attention of her son or the blond girl he was playing some ludicrous game with at the present instead of attending to his duties.
“Arthur,” the woman called out, as she waved her handkerchief.
The young man, whose face was rosy and glowing from the exercise, stopped, as Beatrice nearly collided with him, the ball in her hand.
“Mother,” he said, as he ran his hand through his thick, dark locks of hair, trying to smooth it back into place.
Beatrice looked at him and then at the woman who stood not far from where they were playing. The woman she immediately surmised to be the Duchess of Norwich. Remembering that she should be curtseying or bowing or something, she curtsied and then stared at the sight before her. The woman shared the same dark hair as her son, but with the noticeable inclusion of gray hair visible under the cap of lace she wore on her head. She looked pale and not at all robust and healthy as her son was after a game of ball. Swallowing hard, Beatrice did not say a word, a strange predicament to find herself in as she was not accustomed to being struck speechless. Yet, there was something about this woman’s manner, her way of carrying herself, her stern, unhappy look that seemed to indicate to Beatrice that silence was perhaps best.
“Mother, have you met our neighbor? May I present Miss Beatrice Edmundson?” he said with a gallant gesture toward Beatrice.
Beatrice was aware that her hair had once again fallen out of her braid and was being swirled about in the warm breeze. If only she was wearing her bonnet, her hair would not be in such a state! And there was the matter of her gloves, forgotten again on the tea table beside her bonnet. Looking down at her feet, she was gladdened by the fact that she remembered to wear her shoes and silently praised herself for resisting the temptation, a very strong one, to remove them while she was playing ball. As she studied the woman, her companion’s mother, she had the distinct feeling that she was being appraised for either good or ill as she would if Miss Chisolm was silently chiding her about something or other like her lack of manners, or her decidedly ungraceful behavior.
The duchess made a sound that seemed to express displeasure, as she replied, “Edmundson? Your family name is Edmundson? Not the merchant family? Dear me. I had hoped that the house would be sold to a viscount or an earl. I suppose I may have found even a lowly baronet acceptable.”
Beatrice did not know what half of those titles meant, but she seemed to understand that the duchess appeared to be distress, or at very least, less than pleased. With her coloring as pale as it was, perhaps she was a sickly sort of woman like Beatrice’s own mother or her governess? The only bright spot of the woman’s comment was that she did mention that she knew of Beatrice’s family.
Beatrice had not been instructed in formal addresses of such high ranking personages as dukes and duchesses, and so she neglected by sheer ignorance to greet the duchess properly, as she gleefully replied, “You know of my father’s business? Yes, he is a merchant and a fine one at that, ma’am.”
“I am quite sure that he must be to afford a property such as that one. Dear me, a merchant and his family and such a child as this as neighbors. I shall be faint. Arthur, see to your studies and permit this child to return to her family. I have need of you. I was unable to rest as you were creating so much noise, perhaps you can escort me into my sitting room so that I may find some quiet? The doctors have said I must have peace.”
“Are you very ill, ma’am? My family’s cook makes a first-rate beef broth, and her chicken is not half bad. I’m sure my mother would send some over if she knew you were ill,” Beatrice chirped, trying to be helpful.
Her young companion suppressed a laugh, as he stared at her, a look of amusement on his face. His mother was not so amused, as she answered as if she was not in the habit of addressing anyone so young or untitled, “That will not be necessary. My cook is among the best in the city. Arthur, come here. I have need of rest and quiet.”
She did not know that her new friend was called Arthur until she heard his name spoken by his mother. Gathering her bonnet and her gloves, Beatrice tried to make herself look presentable, as the young man said to her, “Will you be able to find your way home? I know it is terribly rude not to escort you, but my mother requires my aid.”
“I can see my way over the garden wall, it’s no trouble at all,” Beatrice announced.
The duchess stared at Beatrice aghast, as she exclaimed, “Arthur? Have one of the footman show her home, over the wall indeed? What young woman would say such a thing, or even consider it? None that I have ever known among my own set.”
Beatrice did not know why the duchess should be astonished, nor did she understand that duchess was being insulting. Climbing over the wall was how she came to be in the garden. But shrugging, she did not argue, as she could see there was little point to doing so, and she did wish to see inside the house that Arthur, she used his first name in her thoughts, called home. If his mother was so grand, perhaps his house would look like a castle compared to he
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“Wait here, promise that you will, and I will send my footman,” he said to her, and Beatrice agreed, as she watched him enter into the house and felt sad for him. He did lead a dull life if he never had anyone to play with, a life as dull as hers since she came to Bath. Vowing to make sure he was not too terribly bored and neither was she, she promised herself to always look for him in the garden, and now that she was introduced to his mother, perhaps she may even come calling? Oblivious to the ways of society and the rules, she waited patiently as she sighed. Arthur, the boy’s name was Arthur. She knew they would always be friends, or so she hoped as she smiled.
3
Beatrice could barely contain her excitement. Staring out the window of the second-floor landing, she tried to glimpse over the wall of the garden. She thought that she saw a cat making its way along the stone wall. A grey tabby, or was it a shadow? She was not certain, but whatever it was, it reminded her of a cat that once called the garden home, a sickly animal that Arthur doted on, convinced he could nurse her back to health. How his mother had protested keeping the little creature in the house, or in her garden, leaving Beatrice to contrive a reason that she must care for her. An unexpected indulgence that her mother and Gertie permitted, but only reluctantly because it was a personal favor to the young duke.
The cat! She had not thought of it in years, many years in her young life, but she recalled it now with a smile. It was the first time she had ever glimpsed the compassion that existed deep within her dearest friend, Arthur. A trait that she was astonished to find in one so young and titled. She wondered as she stared at the garden if he recalled the cat as she now did? Did he remember the joy they both felt when the cat, regaining her appetite, grew robust at an alarming rate until, at last, a fine litter of tabby kittens was born one warm summer’s evening? How they both adored the little kittens and their mother, mourning each one as it grew up and left the garden, till one day all the cats were gone, each one left to find its way in the world. Those cats were not unlike her, she mused, each one independent like Beatrice, who was convinced she must go out in the world one day, but with Arthur at her side as he ever was.
Regency Engagements Box Set Page 11
