Ewan was no innocent and no monk. He was all too aware of the vices of his countrymen, especially living in a land of exotic beauty with fewer decorous eyes to cast judgement.
He had bedded his share of women, and gambled, and caroused as much as the next man.
But Edmund – Edmund’s proclivities were different and not something Ewan wanted to engage in.
Quite how his cousin found so much hell to raise in such a sleepy little town, Ewan didn’t know. But find it he did. And Ewan was growing heartily sick of waking up every morning to the vestiges of whatever had gone on the night before.
Even now, when the sky was beginning to darken, a gaggle of young women, women who couldn’t be accused of being ladies, burst through the door, half dressed and staggering away. Well and truly foxed by the look of their gait and their raucous laughter ringing through the air.
Ewan swallowed a lump of distaste.
He imagined Lady Beatrice, so shy, so innocent being stuck in a house like this. A marriage to a man such as Edmund.
He imagined the smile that gave Ewan a little spurt of pride every time he coaxed it out of her, dwindling to a forgotten thing. What would she have to smile about, after all?
And those eyes. With their flecks of green, and brown, and gold. The sparkle he’d detected in them disappearing as though it had never existed.
Faith! What was wrong with him? He’d met the girl twice. Not spoken to her about an hour in total.
Why should he care about those things?
He didn’t know Lady Beatrice. For all he knew, she could be a spoilt, vacuous brat like so many young ladies of Quality.
Once he left here, he’d be heading back to Scotland and then India. What did it matter, any of this?
If Edmund’s plan worked and he wound up married to her, Ewan wouldn’t even know about it. He’d be long gone.
If Edmund touched her, kissed her, bedded her…Ewan’s gut twisted, but he ignored it.
It was none of his business.
Edmund had been very clear.
Seduce the chit, get exposed publicly. Then disappear.
Leave her ruined and unweddable. Then Edmund could swoop in, marry her, and get his hands on her money.
And what did Ewan get?
He got his father’s debts forgiven and forgotten.
But he also got the knowledge that he was taking that innocent young miss and throwing her into the hands of the detestable baron.
He’d never forgive himself. But he didn’t have to. He just needed to learn how to live with it.
Chapter Five
“Nothing I own is good enough. You have to help me.”
Beatrice watched her abigail’s eyes widen, and she couldn’t blame the girl.
In all the years that young Hilda had been working for Beatrice, she’d never heard her mistress raise her voice. And she’d certainly never known her worry about a gown. And not even a ball gown! A mere afternoon dress.
“But my lady, I don’t know what you can –“
“I know,” Beatrice interrupted the maid’s softly spoken explanation, already feeling terrible at her outburst. “I’m sorry, Hilda. I just – I just wanted to look nice today.”
Hilda smiled at her mistress, who was really more friend than anything else.
“But you always look nice, my lady,” she said firmly, based more on loyalty than accuracy Bea would wager.
Beatrice sighed.
Perhaps that was the problem. She flopped onto her bed and plucked at the gowns strewn about the coverlet.
Nobody could question the quality. They were excellently made and used the finest materials.
Mama insisted on dressing Beatrice in virginal whites and demure pastels, a fact that hadn’t ever bothered her before.
But now – now she had someone she wanted to impress. For once in her life, she cared about her appearance.
Beatrice had always been quite pragmatic about her plainness. It hadn’t bothered her. Nor had her generous curves or her dull hair.
But Mr. Brooks didn’t look at her as though she were plain. And he’d seemed interested in her, too. In what she had to say.
For someone who was used to blending into the background, that was quite a novel feeling.
He had said that he would call, and Beatrice had barely gotten a wink of sleep because of it.
She wanted quite desperately to look better than usual. Perhaps she’d never achieve breath-taking or beautiful. But she’d dearly hoped that pretty wouldn’t be too much of a stretch.
Yet here she sat, surrounded by plain gowns that wouldn't overcome her plain hair and her plain face. And it made her more miserable than it should.
All because of one man who may or may not call.
Her depressing thoughts were interrupted by a rap on the door signalling the arrival of Natalia, her arms full of brightly coloured materials.
“I got your note,” she huffed as she threw her bundle on the bed to add to the mess. “Why do you need all my spencers?”
Beatrice jumped to her feet and began to gleefully rummage through the blues, and lemons, and greens of Natalia’s spencers and pelisses.
“Because,” she said as she pressed a raspberry-coloured spencer against her chest and turned to study her reflection in the mirror, “none of your gowns will fit me.”
Natalia frowned in confusion before Beatrice turned back to explain.
“I – I ran into Mr. Brooks yesterday after you left the village.”
Natalia’s frown immediately changed to a grin as she rushed forward and grasped Bea’s hands, letting the spencer fall to the floor.
“Mr. Brooks being the name of your handsome stranger, of course. You sly thing,” she declared. “If you’d put that in your note, I’d have been here at dawn! Tell me everything.”
Beatrice laughed, feeling giddy in the face of Natalia’s excitement.
Since almost their first meeting at Miss Fincham’s school, Natalia had been the one with the stories. Tall, Russian, statuesque, and exotically beautiful, Talia had been confident and mischievous in equal measure.
And so it was that Beatrice had played a supporting role in Natalia’s adventures and escapades.
She hadn’t minded. In fact,
