She’d even kept her mouth shut when Talia and Ben had cooked up their crazy idea of a faux engagement.
But this time – this time it was Bea with the story, Bea with the secret conversations with a mysterious stranger.
And there was a part of her that revelled in that, even as she worried about it.
“I’ll tell you everything,” she laughed as Natalia tried to drag her to sit down. “But first, I need to find something to wear. Mr. Brooks, he – he said that he might call and –“
Natalia’s squeal interrupted Beatrice as she leapt to her feet once more.
“Talia,” Bea laughed. “I’m quite sure it can’t be good for the baby, all this leaping about. Ben will have my head if he thinks I’m overtaxing you.”
Natalia merely rolled her eyes.
“What he doesn’t know won’t give him an apoplexy,” she declared. “Now, let’s get you ready for your beau.”
“He’s not my beau, Talia!” Bea objected, but even she could tell that her cheeks were flushing with the pleasure she felt.
“He’s not going to come,” Bea whispered to Natalia some time later.
They were sitting in the blue drawing room, the room favoured by Lady Fortescue when she hosted an At Home.
They'd had their usual callers, the vicar’s wife, and the magistrate. Local gentry and old friends.
But no mystery men.
Mrs. Altmont was updating Mama on the plans for the May Day festival, leaving Bea the opportunity to whisper fiercely to Natalia.
“Tis early yet, Beatrice. He could still arrive.”
Beatrice sighed and twisted her hands together.
She felt foolish.
She’d gotten swept up in Natalia’s and Hilda’s excitement. Allowed herself to believe the man had been interested instead of merely polite.
She’d sat patiently for what seemed like hours while Hilda dressed her hair.
She’d tried on gown after gown, pelisse after pelisse to get the right combination in case Mr. Brooks suggested a walk or even a ride in his gig.
And though Bea was pleasantly surprised with the results of Hilda’s and Natalia’s efforts, she couldn’t help feeling that it was all for nought.
“I feel foolish,” Beatrice muttered despondently. “Perhaps I should—“
“Sir Edmund and Mr. Brooks, my lady.”
Beatrice’s head snapped up as the butler appeared with two cards on a silver platter.
Mama’s face creased in a small frown of disapproval. They were all aware of the rumours that flew about Sir Edmund. But she couldn’t turn away a baron for no solid reason, and everyone in the room knew it.
“Of course.” Lady Fortescue bowed her head regally. “Please, show them in.”
Bea turned to look at Natalia, whose blue eyes were shining with triumph as she reached out and squeezed her hand.
“There. You see? I knew if the man had any sense, he’d rush over here to see you. Now smile, dear. Here he comes.”
Ewan walked stiffly into the room behind Edmund.
He felt the strangest mix of trepidation and excitement.
Much as he despised what he had agreed to, he couldn’t help but want to see Lady Beatrice again.
He bowed to Lady Fortescue and then to all the other occupants of the room as introductions were made.
But his eyes searched for her.
And when they found her, he felt an unexpected surge of desire, and worse, affection as she smiled shyly at him, her cheeks a most becoming shade of pink.
As his gaze raked over her, he realised there was something different about her.
Her gown was a virginal white, dotted with little flowers of some sort. Ewan couldn’t tell what type they were for his attention was riveted to where the neckline dropped in a low, yet not indecent cut. It might not be indecent, but what it hinted at made him think all manner of indecent things.
Her eyes were as wide and sparkling as ever, looking greener than any other colour in the sunlight streaming in the window behind her.
It was her hair! That was it.
Before, she’d had it pulled back untidily or hidden under a bonnet.
But today it was swept up in a pile of soft curls, exposing the delicate skin of her neck and allowing him to truly see her face.
Yesterday he’d thought his cousin had been slightly unkind in saying she was unattractive. Today he could see that Edmund was just plain wrong.
She was lovely. Delicate, and pure, and pretty enough to make his heart clench.
“Ah, Natalia Trafford, the Countess of Staunton. Now there’s a lady a man would go a long way to tup. Pity she married Staunton,” Edmund whispered as he bowed to Lady Fortescue.
“I’m surprised you’d let the sanctity of marriage get in your way,” Ewan sneered quietly as he eyed the raven-haired lady who was chatting softly to Lady Beatrice.
Edmund scoffed beside him.
“You know me well enough by now to know that I wouldn’t. But it’s no use. The chit is madly in love with her husband. And much as I dislike Staunton, I’m not stupid enough to cross him. Certainly not when it comes to his wife.”
His cousin’s deplorability knew no bounds.
Deciding that he’d listened to Edmund long enough, Ewan moved toward Lady Beatrice and her friend.
Already her cheeks were growing redder, and he had the crazy urge to reach out and run his finger along the satin smooth surface of her skin.
“Lady Beatrice.” He bowed, not daring to take her hand. Though if he were to play the role of seducer and blackguard, maybe he should. “You look remarkably well this afternoon.”
She gazed up at him, her eyes wide and innocent. He hadn’t noticed before how thick and long her lashes were. It was most distracting.
As he watched her watching him, her friend gave her a not so subtle nudge.
Ewan couldn’t contain his grin as she squeaked like a startled mouse before glaring at her companion.
Shy she might be, but he suspected the kitten had claws somewhere.
“Natalia, may I introduce Mr. Brooks, lately arrived from India. Mr. Brooks,
