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“Problem?” he asked.
She blushed. “No…I just prefer to avoid this part of the park days. I only hope Edward hasn’t gotten into too much trouble.”
Suddenly, she saw him. She should have been relieved, but she was not. He had paused for breath at the foot of a park bench and had laid his head lovingly in the nearest empty lap. That lap belonged to Lady Barbara Markham. Although a luxurious mink pelisse enveloped her from waist to mouth, and a frothy hat obscured everything north of her eyebrows, Beatrice would have recognized her anywhere. Babs Markham was one of her aunt’s best friends; she was also a notorious gossip and as bad-tempered as an adder.
Lady Markham’s beady eyes peered out from between her hat and her fur, glancing disparagingly down her nose at Edward. Sensing new company, however, she aimed her gaze straight at Beatrice and Charles. Her target fixed in her sights, she lifted her hand to shield her narrowed eyes from the sun so she could peruse them better.
“I say,” Charles said, “isn’t that him over there?”
“Yes,” Beatrice answered weakly.
“You don’t sound pleased.”
She began shaking her head. “Don’t you see who Edward is with?”
He looked again and groaned.
Lady Markham, called across the lawn, “I say, Beatrice, isn’t this your aunt’s mongrel?”
Beatrice gulped. “It is, Lady Markham. He escaped from his lead…I do hope he hasn’t been bothering you.”
Lady Markham sniffed loudly in response. “Come closer, girl. I can hardly hear you. Who is that you’re with?”
“Damn.” Beatrice swore under her breath and took a step forward.
Charles raised an amused eyebrow at her language.
“I don’t know what you think is so amusing. You’re coming with me.”
“Must I?”
She stared at him in disbelief. “You heard what she said. Lady Markham didn’t leave you any choice. All she wants, anyway, is to find out who you are so she can gossip about this. She probably can’t see you from this distance, and she wouldn’t be able to stand not knowing your identity. Besides, you’re the one who threw the ball.”
Charles couldn’t argue with that logic, and began walking, as well.
When they reached Lady Markham, she held up her quizzing glass. “Eh? Is that Summerson?”
“Good day to you, Lady Markham,” he said smoothly, bowing.
She ignored him. “Beatrice, what are you doing with that lot?”
Beatrice felt ill. “Lord Summerson was merely helping me find Edward.”
Lady Markham looked at Charles doubtfully. “Is that the case, Summerson?”
His composure didn’t even crack. “Yes, Lady Markham. But afterward I plan to follow her into the bushes and make violent love to her.”
Beatrice kicked him in the shins. Hard.
“Eh? I didn’t hear you, Summerson. Repeat yourself.”
“He said,” Beatrice answered before Charles could make things worse, “that he would follow me to the street and make his goodbyes. That is all, Lady Markham.”
She looked skeptical. “Humph. Not what I heard.”
Beatrice maintained stony silence, vowing to strangle Charles at the first opportunity.
“Well,” Lady Markham continued, “come take your dog, Beatrice, and tell your aunt I plan to visit her soon.”
“I will, Lady Markham. Good day,” Beatrice replied, hoping she sounded more lighthearted than she felt as she reattached Edward’s lead.
The only reason Lady Markham wanted to come for a visit was to relay the news that she had seen Beatrice in the park with Charles. And Bea would be lucky if she were allowed out of the house alone ever again.
“Everything all right?” Charles asked after a few steps.
Without meeting his gaze directly, she said, “Oh, it’s nothing. But I think it’d be a good idea for me to head home now. Lady Markham is such a gossip, and I really shouldn’t be here with you unchaperoned.”
Charles didn’t want her to leave just yet. “It’s not unheard of for a lady to walk in the park with a man, you know.”
“Not with you, you know.”
“You have me there, I suppose. Can I at least accompany you home?”
Beatrice deliberated. Spending more time with Charles would be dangerous to her reputation and her state of mind. Yet he’d be walking in the same direction, and it’d be awkward for her to refuse his offer. “Well, I suppose, if you’re going that direction anyway. Do you mind if we follow the path back?”
He shook his head. There would be less people that way, and he’d be able to be alone with her a little longer. He returned Egremont to the ground, and they set off.
For several minutes, they walked without speaking. Beatrice gave her undivided attention to the trees, the birds, the grass; she paid attention to anything that wasn’t him. It wasn’t an entirely unpleasant silence, although it was far from being comfortable.
Charles began to whistle.
She glanced at him sideways. His hands were in his pockets, and he looked so handsome that her stomach turned a somersault.
She quickly looked away, but after another moment of silence, she remarked, “You seem in good spirits.”
He gazed at her. “I am, I suppose.”
She didn’t want to know why—she didn’t want to know more about Charles than was absolutely necessary—but her natural inquisitiveness got the better of her. “Is there any particular reason?”
He pondered her question for a moment. It had been a very long time since he’d strolled in the park with a lady who wasn’t his sister or his mother, and he had been wondering why. He was having a bloody good time. “No reason,” he said. “Just enjoying the day.”
They walked along in silence again. Charles remarked, “My mother mentioned that she’s invited you to her dinner party.” He hoped it sounded like mere small talk, but he was very interested in her answer. He’d spent several more sleepless nights thinking of all the tantalizing possibilities presented by having her in his home: the library…the terrace…the garden. Of course, there’d be even more possibilities if it weren’t also his mother’s home, but he was nothing if not creative.
Beatrice blushed. “Yes…she has.” She was wishing once again that she had a way of getting out of the party, but she liked Lady Summerson too much to go back on her word.
Charles sensed her hesitation and knew what caused it; she didn’t want to go because of him. “I probably won’t attend. My mother holds these parties periodically—she invites all of Lucy’s beaus, thinking that the best way to get one of them to propose is to put them all together and see who survives the longest. It’s quite frightening, really.”
Beatrice grinned, relaxing. “I can see why she and my aunt are friends, then. Louisa is desperate that I marry, although if it’s just your sister’s first season, I can’t see that she has much reason to worry. Is Lucy your only sibling?”
Beatrice noticed a slight tightening around his mouth before he answered. “Yes, she is.” He said nothing for a moment. “How about you? I know your brother vaguely…he was a few years behind me at school.”
“Yes. Ben…he’s five years older than me. Every time I get annoyed at Louisa for worrying over me so much, I’m just thankful that I’m not Ben. She considers him a lost cause.”
Charles grinned. “Nothing wrong with lost causes, you know.”
Beatrice refused to make eye contact. He was much too charming when he grinned like that. “Yes, well, I’m the oldest after Ben, and then comes Eleanor—she’s sixteen. And after Eleanor is Helen. She’s thirteen and, according to my aunt, will be the death of us all.”
“I take it Helen is a troublemaker?”
Beatrice nodded, for the moment forgetting that she had ever felt uncomfortable around him. “Definitely. It comes from being the youngest, I think. Our mother died right after she was born and Helen has been allowed to run a bit wild.” Beatrice blushed when she finished, not having meant to say so much. “Sorry. I don’t mean to go on so.”
“No, it’s all right,” Charles said, thinking that she looked lovely with the sun lighting her face. Her happiness was contagious, and he couldn’t help smiling. “You’re very close to your siblings, I think.”
She smiled back. “I am—I’m close to everyone in my family, for that matter, although we’re all quite different.”
As they reached the end of the path, Charles didn’t know what possessed him to utter his next words. “I used to have a brother.”
She looked up at him in surprise. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know that.”
He shrugged. He never talked to anyone about his brother. The subject brought back too many painful memories. “It’s all right,” he said. “He died a long time ago.”
“May I ask what happened?” Beatrice murmured hesitantly.
His expression was guarded. “He was two years younger than me…his name was Mark. He and my father were driving up to visit me at Eton, and they had an accident on the way. I was fifteen.”
Beatrice unconsciously laid a hand on Charles’s arm. “I’m so sorry…I didn’t know. Don’t continue if it’s too painful.”
He looked away. Now that he’d started, he couldn’t just stop. “It’s all right. Mark was killed instantly. My father was brought to Eton—the accident happened quite close to school—and he survived for another week.”
Beatrice didn’t know what to say. She had no experience with loss on quite that scale, but she understood. Her mother had died giving birth to Helen, and Beatrice had never quite gotten over her death. She didn’t think she ever would.
Beatrice felt Charles’s hand on her shoulder and looked up at him, realizing that she had become absorbed in her thoughts. He appeared concerned. “I’m sorry—I’ve made you sad. I really don’t know why I brought that up.”
“I don’t mind…perhaps you just wanted to talk about it?”
He shook his head. “I don’t want to talk about it, actually.”
Beatrice looked uncomfortably at the gate to the street. “Well…I suppose I should go. Louisa will wonder where I’ve been.”
Charles nodded. “Don’t want to make her angry.”
They passed through the gate and crossed the street, the dogs behind them.
“Perhaps I’ll see you later on this evening,” he said as they reached the other side.
She turned around. They were in front of Louisa’s house and Beatrice didn’t want to linger. Hoping her voice didn’t reveal her nervousness, she asked, “This evening?”
“I assume you’re going to the Dalrymples’ dinner party. Am I wrong?” Charles had been invited to the event weeks ago, but hadn’t actually planned on attending until now.
“Oh. Yes. I mean, no, you’re not wrong.”
“Well, then, I shall see you there.”
Chapter Eight
S everal hours later, Beatrice was almost ready to sigh in relief. Dinner had come and gone, and Charles had not appeared. She had been all but wringing her hands, during supper, expecting him to materialize at any moment. Louisa had shot her several dirty looks for her inattentiveness, but now, at this late hour…perhaps Beatrice could stop worrying. Charles had probably changed his mind about coming. She hoped so, or at least tried to convince herself that she did. She knew, however, that if she were honest with herself, she’d have to admit that she was bored without him and that her anxiety that he wouldn’t show surpassed her anxiety that he would.
Luckily, she wasn’t in the mood to be honest.
It was about ten o’clock, supper had just ended. The men remained in the dining room to drink their port and the ladies had retired to the sitting room where, for the most part, they were discussing the men.
“—well, I would have said yes, Bea, but I simply cannot be a pauper. I mean, a title is fine, but a girl must draw the line somewhere, mustn’t she?”
Beatrice nodded weakly in response to Georgina Emerson’s incessant chatter. Beatrice let her gaze wander around the room as her mind began to wander, as well. She wished the men would finish up. That was the only thing that would drag Georgina away from her…that or a second round of dessert.
Lady Summerson caught her eye from across the way and waved. She began making a beeline toward her.
“Hello, Beatrice! Georgina.” A smile for the former and a rather curt nod for the latter accompanied her greeting before she turned toward Beatrice. “I’m sorry to interrupt, dear, but I was hoping to see you this evening. I promised to introduce you to Lucy, remember? Would you please excuse us, Georgina?”
Miss Emerson nodded meekly, cowed by the woman’s commanding presence. Lady Summerson quickly whisked Beatrice away to the other end of the room.
“I hope you don’t think me presumptuous, but you seemed to be in need of rescuing.”
Beatrice smiled. “Well, a bit.”
“You’ll have to pardon me for having a less than favorable opinion of Miss Emerson. It’s just that she was courting my son last year—yes, she was courting him—and I found her rather grasping. Ah, here is Lucy. Lucy, I’d like you to meet Miss Beatrice Sinclair. She is currently staying with our neighbor, Lady Louisa Sinclair.”
“How do you do, Miss Summerson?” Beatrice inquired, curtsying. Up close, Lucy looked even more alarmingly like her brother.
“Call me Lucy, please, and I have been better. Do you know Lord Dudley?”
“Has he declared his undying love for you yet?”
Lucy rolled her eyes comically. “I’m wounded! You mean I’m not the only one?”
Beatrice giggled, truly enjoying herself for the first time this evening.
Lady Summerson smiled. “Ah…the life of the unmarried girl. It’s hard, isn’t it? I had several persistent suitors myself.”
Lucy rolled her eyes once more.
Her mother just patted her hand and continued. “Although my daughter finds that hard to believe. You know, Beatrice, I was hoping to introduce you to my wayward son, as well, although he hasn’t appeared yet.”
“Perhaps he is not coming then?” Beatrice hoped that her voice didn’t betray her anxiety.
Lady Summerson sighed. “Perhaps he’ll stop by later. He and Lord Dalrymple have been friends forever. They’re beyond politeness.”
Beatrice nodded, trying to seem disinterested. She supposed she should inform Lady Summerson that she’d already met her son, but wasn’t sure, at this point, how to work that tidbit into the conversation. She was saved from her deliberations, however, by Lady Dalrymple, who announced that the men had finished their port and that there would be music in the drawing room.
