Captive Bride (34 page)

“
Beatrice,
how
could
you?” her mother exclaimed
.

“I don’t have any idea what you mean, Mama. And I could very well, thank you.”

Her father cleared his throat. “Baron or no,
Cheriot
, you might have asked me first.”

“And you, Beatrice,” Lady Harriet whined, “are an ungrateful girl not to have asked me first.”

“As I understand it,” Tip
said,
his voice perfectly even, “your other daughters’ suitors did not ask your permission to pay their addresses. Nor did the ladies themselves require your leave to marry. Why should your youngest daughter be held to a different standard?”

Bea’s breath left her. Could it be? Had he not asked them because he respected her—worlds more than her parents ever had—and he wished her to know it, even years ago? Bea’s heart filled with gratitude. Warm, sizzling anticipation curled around it. He was not denying their betrothal.

“Be that as it may,” her father said gruffly, “someone must look after Thomas and Lady Harriet.”

“As head of your family, sir, I should think that would be your duty.”

“You listen here, young man. You may hold a title, but I will not stand for Richard
Cheriot’s
son, of all people, telling me what my duty to my family ought to be.”

“Papa, stop,” Bea cut in. “He does not deserve your censure, and it is me that you truly wish to chastise. So go ahead. Do so and be done with it, because this is your last opportunity. After this, you will have my deaf ear, I assure you.”

“You thankless girl,” her mother muttered.

Bea turned a level gaze upon her.
“You, too, Mama.
Have your say now. I will not be available for more forthwith.”

The lady’s mouth opened and closed like a fish.

“Harriet,” Lady
Marstowe
intoned. “Julia and I will not be returning to Hart House at this time. Instead, she and I,
and you
, will remain here after the others have departed.”

Lady Harriet’s crystal blue eyes went wide. “Me? Whatever can you mean to say, Aunt Grace?”

“That you are a spoilt, overindulged, petulant child, and it is about time you looked after someone else for a change. Lady Bronwyn’s grandmother requires more attention than the chit is willing to pay her, and as Julia and I are past our prime we cannot do it alone.” She cast Bea a shrewd look. “Perhaps Beatrice might recommend some methods for caring for an invalid.”

Bea smiled. She glanced at Tip. He seemed to be studying the shine on the toes of his top boots. Her heart tightened. Could he be unhappy about what she had done?

“Alfred, tell her I will not do it,” her mother insisted.

“No, Harriet. It will do you good to spend a minute or two each day thinking of someone other than yourself.” His gaze shifted back to Bea, troubled. He opened his mouth as though to speak.

“I think I shall have a stroll in the garden,” Aunt Julia said brightly, standing. “Gracie, Beatrice, I would be so happy to have your company.” She turned her twinkling eyes on Tip. “And dear Peter, too, of course.”

“Ma’am.”
He smiled and bowed.

Bea’s hands trembled, spent exhilaration washing through her. She felt drained and wonderful.
Almost courageous enough to face him alone.

“May I come along?” Thomas asked hesitantly.

Lady Harriet’s lips twisted. “You are a faithless boy, Thomas. I always knew that.”

“Oh hush, Mama.” He came to Bea’s side and offered his arm.

Bea’s eyes went wide. He had not done such a thing in years. Not even during those endless nights at balls and assemblies her first season in London, when she had known so few people and often stood alone awaiting a partner, had Thomas acted the gallant escort to her.

But Tip had. Whenever he had been present at a party or ball he’d sought her out, teased and talked with her, made her feel comfortable. He had even introduced her to his friends, always gracious and solicitous. It had never bothered her that those eligible bachelors invariably disappeared into the ether as soon as they paid her a few calls. She only ever had eyes for one gentleman.

He still had not looked at her. She watched covertly as he took Aunt Julia’s arm and led her from the breakfast parlor.

“Bea,” her brother said as they moved through the courtyard toward the rear gate. The sun had climbed high enough to dissipate the mists, and the grass was nearly dry. Bea’s slippers were already a soggy mess from earlier. But she didn’t mind it. She walked five feet off the ground.

“I’m deuced sorry I’ve been so wretchedly
addlepated
,” Thomas mumbled. “Will you forgive me?”

“Probably, but only after many years.”

His gaze cut to hers, then relaxed with a great show of relief.

“You are gammoning me. My sister,” he squeezed her hand in his elbow. “I don’t know what I would ever do without you.”

“Well you must become accustomed to it, Tom. I was perfectly serious in there when I said I am finished saving you from your mistakes.”

“I know it, and I’m damned jelly-legged to do it alone, I’ll admit, Bea. I depend upon you.”

She blinked rapidly. “You have never said such a thing to me before.” 

His brow beetled. “I may not have said it, but it’s the truth.”
He quirked a rueful smile.
“I wouldn’t be half the man I am if it weren’t for you.”

“Thank you, Tom.”

He did not leave her side for the remainder of the promenade, keeping her hand tucked on his arm and helping her over rough spots in the ground. Bea wished she had the heart to tell him to run off like he usually did. But as minutes passed into an hour, she began to despair of ever having the opportunity to be with Tip in private.

When they reached the house, her brother squeezed her fingers yet again. “I’m off to the cottage to speak with Lady Bronwyn then.”

“What will you say to her?”

His chest expanded on a deep breath.

“I’ll leave it up to her to decide, I suppose. It’s the gentlemanly thing to do.” He shrugged. Bea patted his hand. He tipped his hat and headed toward the stable.

Heart climbing to her throat again, she turned toward her great-aunts and Tip approaching up the path.

“What a lovely outing. I feel entirely myself again,” Aunt Julia said on a sigh. “Where is Thomas off to, Beatrice dear?
To see that pretty girl, no doubt.
Poor thing.
He never knew what was coming from that direction, did he?”

Bea couldn’t prevent herself from looking at Tip. He was smiling slightly at Aunt Julia. Would he avoid looking at her for the remainder of the day?

“Beatrice?” Her father stood in the doorway to the lower floor of the keep. “I would like to speak with you for a moment.” His gaze shifted to a point over her shoulder. “I have at least a few more weeks to demand a father’s prerogative,” he added in a firmer voice.

Bea tilted her head around. Tip stood just behind her, his stance unmistakably protective. Her stomach somersaulted.

She ought to have expected it of him, of course, after the broom closet.

“All right, Papa.” She followed him toward the parlor, struggling not to glance back to see if Tip watched her go.

Her father closed the door and turned to her, his shoulders heavy.

“Daughter, I owe you an apology.”

Bea’s jaw loosened; she was not fool enough to let it drop.
“Papa?”

He seemed remarkably uncomfortable. “I have underestimated you. I never imagined you had it in you to defy your mother, and certainly not me.”

“I am not defiant by nature, Papa.
Only determined.”

“I never knew that.”

“I don’t think I did either, until recently.”

“And you are happy with this match with
Cheriot
?” He narrowed his gaze.

Bea’s throat got tight. “Why shouldn’t I be?”

“Your mother always told me how tame he ran around the place, like a brother. I noticed it myself when I could still bear to reside in—” He seemed to recall himself. “He is certainly well set up, but a man’s situation in society does not always suffice for the ladies, I realize. I know what it is like to be in a marriage where the partners are not suited to one another. I don’t want you marrying yourself off to someone you cannot care for simply to get clear of your mother.”

“I am not, Papa.” Bea’s voice was much smaller than she liked.

“Because if you’d rather not, I will write to your aunt Audrey.
I suspect she would be glad to have you live with them in town.”

“Thank you, Papa. I am content with the situation as it is.”
Entirely.
Anxiously
.

He patted her on the cheek. “You are a good girl, Beatrice.” His brow creased.
“Perhaps too good for your own good.”

He walked from the chamber stiffly. She had never seen him so discomposed. Not even when he learned that
Kievan
had returned from Ireland to finally claim
Georgie
, and
Georgie
was his favorite.

Bea’s gaze strayed to her embroidery bag, forgotten beside a chair days earlier. Her hands still shook a little, and she felt astoundingly light-headed. She could spend some time in quiet reflection with her work and rally her nerves before seeing others again. Or she could go find Peter
Cheriot
.

She marched toward the door.

He was leaning against the wall outside the chamber, one foot propped against the stone, hands in his pockets. He drew them out and pushed away from the wall.

“I was just coming to find you,” she said.
Best to tackle the bull head-on.
She hadn’t an ounce of energy left after her morning’s
tacklings
, but her blood sizzled to life at sight of his enigmatic smile.

“Lady Bronwyn’s grandmother has come forth from her boudoir and called luncheon in the dining room. Shall we?” He gestured her forward.

Bea nodded and he fell in beside her.

“That was an impressive show in there earlier,” he said quietly.

“It was not a show. It was real.” She spread her shaking hands on her skirt.

“Good. Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

A moment’s silence.

“So you think to force my hand?”

Not trusting her exhausted tongue to behave, she nodded.

He glanced aside at her. “I seem to recall at least twice vowing—out loud to you on both occasions—that I would not renew my suit.”

“You don’t have to,” Bea whispered. “I already have.”

“Yes. Rather publicly.”

Her stomach twisted.

He fixed her with a serious regard. “What will you do if I refuse to honor this one-sided agreement? Return to your mother’s home?”

“I would go to
Georgie
and
Kievan
in Ireland, or Aunt Audrey in London. Or—” She paused. “—I could hire myself out as a governess. Then perhaps when I retire I might return here and learn witchcraft from Miss Minturn. I understand it comes in very handy when one is crossed by a ghost, or some such thing.” She grinned, her lips shaky.

Tip’s expressive eyes glimmered. “Then when I am gone and done for, I will be certain to haunt this castle.”

They halted before the dining chamber door. He reached for the latch. Steeling herself, she laid a hand upon his arm, staying him.

“I always thought you never asked my parents for permission to address me because you lacked sincerity.”

His expression sobered again. He shook his head.

“Thank you for your confidence in me, Peter. You are the best friend I have ever had.”

He offered her a beautiful smile. “I wondered if you would ever notice that.” He pulled open the door and ushered her within.

CHAPTER
TWENTY-FIVE

Lady Bronwyn returned to the castle after luncheon. She came to Bea tentatively, took her fingers in a warm grasp, and regarded her with contrition.

“Oh, I am very happy for you, Beatrice,” she said in remarkably subdued tones.

“And am I to wish you felicitations as well?” Bea asked quietly.

“Your brother and I have decided on a long, private betrothal. We would like to come to know each other first, to determine if we suit.” Her gentian eyes glinted with skepticism, but her grip tightened.

“How is Miss Minturn?” Bea changed the subject.

“Oh, she is quite miserable.” Bronwyn’s gaze relaxed. “I had no idea she had such passion in her. Will Miss Dews seek out the magistrate?”

“She cannot very well do that, can she? What magistrate would believe the story?”