Bea clenched her jaw. She hated to hear someone speak so poorly of herself. She raised her eyebrows and said with great firmness, “You are not a fool, Diana Dow— I mean Rochester. You are a sweet, intelligent woman. I won’t have you saying such things.”
Diana flopped back against the cushions, expelling a humorless laugh. “What else would you call a girl who fell in love with a man who pretended to love her back, all in the name of obtaining her dowry?”
“Wronged, that’s what.” As she looked down at her friend’s pained expression, a fury started to build within Beatrice’s chest, pushing against her lungs and constricting her heart. Another lamb, fooled by a clever wolf. “Heinously so.”
Diana pressed her lips together and nodded. “That too. I wish I hadn’t been so terribly blind. And it’s too late now. . . .” She trailed off, lifting the handkerchief to her nose as she sniffled.
Blowing out a helpless breath, Beatrice dropped back against the settee as well. Between the tears and the rumpled skirts, it hardly mattered at this point if she failed to maintain proper posture. How on earth had her night degraded from the excitement of earlier to sitting on a tufted settee in Lady Churly’s retiring room, comforting a heartbroken newlywed?
She pursed her lips. It was a good question, actually. “So, did you only just discover the state of things tonight?”
Diana’s sudden laugh bordered on hysterical. “That’s one way to put it. It was fairly apparent before the honeymoon was even over, but it took me discovering him in . . . in the arms of another tonight for my humiliation to be complete.”
Beatrice gasped, her hand flying to her lips. “Good heavens! Oh, Diana, I’m so very sorry. Are you”—she looked for a delicate way to put it—“er, certain it was your husband?”
“Well,” she said, choking on fresh tears for a moment, “I was fairly certain it was him when he called me a silly cow and told me to go home without him—and for me not to expect him until sometime tomorrow.”
Beatrice saw red at her friend’s suffering. It didn’t matter that the horrible words weren’t directed to her. The fact that they were uttered at all, to any woman, made her furious enough to spit. “How dare he? Good Lord, the man doesn’t deserve the air he breathes, let alone having someone as lovely as you for his wife.”
Her friend’s sigh was deep and long. When she looked up, her red-rimmed eyes held defeat. “I have no one to blame but myself. If I had paid more attention, then maybe I would have realized that his regard was for my dowry, not the woman attached to it.”
Poor Diana. Her mother had passed away several years earlier, and her father seemed to have little regard for his only daughter. He had offered a fantastic dowry with the hope of marrying her off as quickly as possible. It was heartbreaking to think that some of the young ladies entering society as innocents had no true champion for them. Love for her own family welled in Bea’s chest. They may be annoying sometimes, but she could always count on them to have her best interests at heart.
“What can I do to help? Do you want to stay in one of our guest chambers tonight? I’m certain Mama wouldn’t mind.”
Diana shook her head. “No, but thank you. Mercy, I feel fool enough to have even told you in the first place. What must you think of me?”
“I think nothing different of you, my dear. Your husband’s sins are not your own.”
They both were quiet for a moment, two young ladies whose lives had diverged drastically after starting their first Seasons in nearly the exact same way. Beatrice thought of Mr. Godfrey and how another woman might not be as aware of his motives as she. If only someone could have warned Diana. What if someone had told her what to look for? It was just so heartbreaking that nobody was on her side when she needed it most.
Pushing off the cushions, Beatrice came to her feet, extending a hand to Diana. “Come, my dear. Let us get you tidied up.”
As she watched her friend wet her cloth and press it to her eyes to try to wipe away the evidence of her devastation, Bea clenched her teeth against the desire to find Diana’s cur of a husband and give him a piece of her mind. But it wouldn’t help. There was little she could do to help Diana now.
Bea’s gaze flicked away from Diana’s reflection and settled on her own. Would she have recognized Mr. Rochester for what he was if things had been different? She liked to think so. She was blessed with the ability to see things others overlooked. It’s what made her a good painter, as well as a good spy.
She sighed, giving Diana a little squeeze. What was done was done—the only thing she could do now was be extra diligent for herself and those she loved.
And perhaps have Richard invite Mr. Rochester for a friendly match at Gentleman Jackson’s. For the first time since hearing Diana’s sniffle, Beatrice had to bite back a smile.
“I’m fairly certain there is nothing in those tomes that will help you secure a wife.”
“Yes,” Colin said, craning his neck to smile at his aunt, “but there is plenty here to help me
Aunt Constance’s petite form floated through the library in a cloud of fine muslin and French perfume, distinctly out of place among the austere furniture and towering bookshelves. “Whatever do you mean, darling? The point of a well-dowered wife is to have one’s financial situation taken care of.”
He loved his aunt and was very grateful to her, but that was exactly the sort of attitude that drove him mad. “On the contrary. A well-dowered wife will save the estate—it is up to me to see to the financial security of the rest of my life. I chose my profession with exactly that in mind.”
He’d always known of his father’s ineptitude when it came to money. He pushed back against the memories from his childhood of hungry bellies and cold rooms. He’d lived it once—and no matter what, he wouldn’t let that be his future. More important, he wouldn’t let that be his siblings’ future.
Constance waved a bejeweled hand through the air. “Oh, pish—why toil the rest of your life away? I’m affording you exactly the opportunity to avoid all that.” She paused at his chair and tilted her head critically. “You’ve very fine features. Not at all as rugged as your Scottish father, thanks to your mother. And her tempering effect on your accent works in your favor as well.”
Colin allowed her the inspection, holding his tongue. She had liked his father well enough, but it was certainly in spite of his Scottish origins. She never could quite understand why her sister had fallen for the thick- brogued, penniless artist from Edinburgh. Yes, he had risen quite astonishingly and had certainly made a name for himself, but Constance wasn’t the least bit surprised to learn the state of things upon his death.
Oddly, as much as his father had wronged him, Colin hated for others to think poorly of him. Closing the law book, he leaned back in his chair and offered a long-suffering smile. “Was there something you wanted, dear Aunt?”
“A good lesson for you, Colin: A woman always wants something.” She winked and made her way to the opposite chair. “I’m merely here to impart some practical advice. Do strike while the iron is hot, my dear, and be sure to call on all of the lovely young prospects you met last night. We mustn’t give them a chance to forget you, especially with the fleeting advantage of novelty on your side.”
“Sound advice. You’ll be happy to know that I have planned exactly that. Time is of the essence, after all.”
“Indeed. Whom do you plan to visit?”
“Miss Briggs, Miss Graves, and Miss Paddington. Perhaps Miss Trenton, if there’s time.”
“Mmm, I suggest you make time. There’s enough blunt between the four of them to save a struggling country, let alone a single estate.” Aunt Constance straightened the glittering rings on her fingers before regarding him once more. “Of course, if you’d like to take your chances, there is always the Granville chit, with whom I saw you disappear outside last night.”
Colin nodded, keeping his expression neutral. “Lady Beatrice expressed a great love for my father’s work. She’s a bit above my reach, I should think.” It was the perfect opportunity to disclose to his aunt the fact that he had already decided to call on her. And yet he chose not to. Any good barrister knew that it was always best to hold one’s cards close to the chest.
