by Rose Pearson
“Lady Beatrice!”
A hurried exclamation caught her ears and she turned her head, astonished to see none other than Lord Greaves hurrying towards her. His face was rather pale and his eyes held a good deal of anxiety, which she could not understand. Was something wrong? Had Lady Smithton taken ill?
“Lord Greaves,” she stammered, as Lord Greaves grasped her hand in an almost ardent fashion, bringing it to his mouth and pressing his lips to the back of her hand. Heat seared up her arm and she caught her breath, astonished with just how tightly he grasped it.
“Lady Beatrice,” Lord Greaves said again, his breathing a little ragged. “I must speak to you at once. It is of the greatest urgency.”
Before Beatrice could answer, however, the slightly portly figure of her father moved into view, catching Lord Greaves’ attention and making him drop Beatrice’s hand at once.
Evidently, Lord Greaves had not noticed her father standing only a step away from her, for his cheeks colored at once and he bowed stiffly in greeting.
“Father,” Beatrice said hurriedly, quite sure that there was something desperately wrong with Lord Greaves for him to behave so but knowing that she could not tell her father such a thing. “Might I present the Earl of Greaves? Lord Greaves, this is my father, the Marquess of Burnley.”
Lord Burnley bowed in return, although Beatrice saw the slight gleam of interest in her father’s eyes. It seemed that he had mistaken Lord Greaves’ desperation for something a little more akin to eagerness for her company.
“Lord Greaves,” her father said, grinning broadly at him. “I am very glad to make your acquaintance.” He threw a glance towards Beatrice, who only blushed. “I can see that you are eager to spend time in my daughter’s company and so, I shall not deter you.” He patted Beatrice on the shoulder in an affectionate fashion, although Beatrice knew all too well that her father was only hoping for a match between this ardent Lord Greaves and his daughter. “I am sure Lady Smithton is waiting for you, Beatrice. Mayhap Lord Greaves, you might be good enough to take my daughter to her dear friend? I would be much obliged to you.”
Beatrice turned scarlet as Lord Greaves nodded, stammering over his words and, as he did so, offering his arm to her. Lord Burnley gave them both a satisfied nod before turning away, leaving Beatrice to walk slowly alongside Lord Greaves, although he kept to the back of the ballroom so as to keep to the shadows.
“You must excuse my father,” Beatrice told him, quickly. “He is desperate for me to wed so that I might no longer be a burden to his finances.” She could not help the angry tone that came into her words, going hot all over with a sense of embarrassment and shame. “He quite mistook your eagerness to speak with me for something else entirely.” She looked up at him, seeing again the slightly grey pallor to his cheeks. “Something is wrong, is it not?”
Lord Greaves nodded quickly, turning to her and looking into her eyes with such intensity that Beatrice caught her breath. They came to a stop and Lord Greaves moved to face her, although his hand still held hers.
“You were in the bookshop this afternoon, were you not?”
She nodded, a slight frown marring her brow. “I was,” she answered, slowly. “As were you, Lord Greaves. You greeted us.” She watched as he nodded, deep grooves forming across his forehead as he frowned.
“Before I greeted you, I believe you were knocked down by a very rude gentleman,” he continued, surprising her with what he knew. “You did not know him?” His eyes searched her face but Beatrice could only shake her head.
“I did not quite manage to get a clear look at his face,” she told him, beginning to feel rather nervous about his many questions. “Why do you ask?”
Lord Greaves gave a short, sharp shake of his head, as if to state that he would be the one asking questions rather than accepting them from her. “And you were looking at a book, I believe.” His eyes fixed upon hers, practically forcing her to speak the truth. “‘The History of London’?”
Blinking quickly, Beatrice nodded, her fingers tightening on his such was the tension that she felt. Lord Greaves started, looked down and then let her hand go, having evidently forgot that he was holding her so.
“What did you find within that book, Lady Beatrice?” he asked, his brows low over his eyes and his tone dark. “What did you take from it?”
Beatrice stared at him, all of her breath leaving her body as she looked up into his face and found herself quite without explanation. The note she had taken had held nothing more than an address and, thus far, she had done nothing with it. She had not sought to discover who lived at the address or any such thing, given that she had hurried home to dine and then to prepare for the ball.
“What did you take, Lady Beatrice?” Lord Greaves asked again, his face now a little closer to hers, his breath brushing her cheek with a fiery heat. “Tell me at once. I must know.”
“It – it was nothing of importance,” Beatrice squeaked, suddenly feeling quite ill at ease as she dropped her head. “It was only a small scrap of paper and I could not help but wonder at what was contained within. When I read it, I soon realized that it was not at all significant.”
Lord Greaves put one finger under Beatrice’s chin and lifted her face until she was forced to look into his eyes. Her whole body trembled with the nearness of him, with the awareness of his presence. She could barely think.
“What did the note say?” Lord Greaves asked, his voice barely louder than a whisper but sending such a shiver through her that she visibly shook. “Do you have it with you now?”
She shook her head and Lord Greaves dropped his hand. “It held nothing more than an address,” she answered, seeing his expression suddenly clear. “That is all. It did not belong in a book and so I took it with me, thinking to…” The lie wanted to come to her lips but she could not bring herself to say it. Closing her eyes, she shook her head. “I could not help but allow my mind to think on what was there,” she said, softly, opening her eyes to look at him. “I took the note with me so that I might seek out the address and discover if there was anything of interest there.”
Lord Greaves shook his head and took a small step back, leaving Beatrice feeling as though a tight band had been loosened from her chest. “It is just as well you did not,” he answered, gruffly. “I must have the note, Lady Beatrice. Where it is at present?”
“It is at home,” she told him, glad that she had kept it in the secure drawer of her dressing table. “I have done nothing with it.”
“Then I will call for it tomorrow,” he stated, making to step away – but before he could do so, Beatrice reached out and grasped his arm.
Determination rose up within her. Her father treated her as though she was worth very little and, had it not been for Lady Smithton’s company and confidence, Beatrice was quite certain that she would have continued feeling as small and as insignificant as before. But now that she had found the strength to speak openly to her father and to state clearly her expectations without fear of retribution, Beatrice now found the same determination strengthening her soul yet again. She would not permit Lord Greaves to treat her in the same way as her own father. She was not about to simply hand over the note without question, without expectation, and then retreat back into the shadows.
Besides which, she considered, aware of the look of astonishment Lord Greaves wore, the gentleman was quite handsome and, from all accounts, a man of excellent character. Why should she not pursue him? After all, she had managed to find the strength within herself to speak openly with her father – something she had never once considered she might be able to do – so might she not continue on with what Lady Smithton had suggested?
“You will not call for it tomorrow, Lord Greaves,” she said, not letting go of his arm but holding onto it a little more firmly so that he knew she was not about to let the matter drop. “You will call upon me tomorrow afternoon and, thereafter, you shall explain to me the significance of the note and why it is of such great import
ance to you.” Seeing how he was about to protest, Beatrice held up her other hand, palm out towards him, and Lord Greaves reared back as though she had slapped him.
“Thereafter, I have every intention of aiding you in whatever this situation might be,” she finished, finally letting go of Lord Greaves’ arm. “I am not about to be pushed to the side, Lord Greaves, no matter how much you might wish it.”
Lord Greaves’ eyes flared with evident anger and he took a step closer to her, but Beatrice did not turn away nor stumble back. Her heart was hammering furiously but she did not want to give even the appearance of fear, given what she had just demanded.
“This is no business of yours, Lady Beatrice,” Lord Greaves hissed, his expression growing all the more angry. “This is to do with myself and my brother.”
Surprised, Beatrice looked back at him steadily. “I did not know you had a brother, Lord Greaves.”
“That is beside the point!” he exclaimed, clearly frustrated with himself for having said such a thing. “There is no requirement for your involvement, Lady Beatrice. This situation is to do with my family and therefore, has naught to do with you.”
Beatrice knew that he was quite correct in what he had stated, was quite right to tell her that she had no business becoming involved, but something within her simply would not let it go. She had to discover the truth, had to find out what the note meant and where the address led to. And to do so alongside Lord Greaves added a touch more excitement.
“You are correct to state that I should not become involved, Lord Greaves,” she said, taking a small step closer to him and seeing how his expression suddenly changed from anger to awareness. “But my life has been particularly difficult of late and I require a distraction.”
Lord Greaves narrowed his eyes, his jaw working. “A distraction?” he repeated, sounding almost offended at the suggestion. “You wish to use my present circumstances to make yourself feel better?”
Aware of how this must have sounded, Beatrice took in a long breath and tried to find the right words to say. “Lord Greaves, you may not be aware of what rumors have been spread about me throughout the beau monde,” she began, quietly. “You say that you are a gentleman who seeks to remain strictly within the bounds of propriety and thus, you do not listen to gossip.”
“That is just so,” Lord Greaves answered, lifting his chin just a little. “I do not like to listen to rumor or the like, for I am aware that not all that is said is truth.”
“And I respect that greatly,” Beatrice answered, looking up into his face and seeing how his anger began to fade. “You are one of the only gentlemen I have met who has no knowledge of what has been said about me, Lord Greaves. On top of this, you were also very kind when I first flung myself into your carriage.”
Lord Greaves cleared his throat, his eyes darting away. “You were upset about these rumors,” he answered, now looking at her with a little more curiosity. “Is that not so?”
Beatrice nodded, pressing her lips together for a moment as she tried to push away the sharp tears that began to burn in her eyes. “It has been very trying indeed,” she told him, seeing the flash of sympathy in his expression. “I have been very fortunate indeed to have the company of Lady Smithton and Lord Havisham these last few weeks and –”
“Lord Havisham has been quite determined to come to your defense,” Lord Greaves interrupted, now appearing to be a little confused. “And now you seek to involve yourself with me?”
Heat climbed up Beatrice’s chest and into her face. “Lord Havisham is, at present, courting Lady Smithton,” she stated, aware that Lord Greaves was wondering just how close both herself and Lord Havisham had become. “It is because I am friends with Lady Smithton that he has come to my defense, Lord Greaves.”
“I see.” He said nothing further but simply allowed his gaze to rest on her, giving Beatrice yet another flush of heat.
“When I discovered this note,” Beatrice continued, allowing herself to look away for a few moments so that she would not lose her composure completely, “I knew there was no reason for me to take it, no reason for me to keep it as my own. And yet, I could not leave it there.” A small shrug lifted her shoulders. “It is, mayhap, my own curious mind or mayhap my desire for something more to this Season than my attempts to regain some sort of respectability and search for a prospective partner within a society that thinks me illegitimate.” She spoke with a good deal more alacrity than she had intended but, for whatever reason, Beatrice discovered that she could not prevent herself from doing so. There was something within her that was desperate to explain, desperate to have him listen and to understand so that they might move forward together. “I want still to be involved, Lord Greaves,” she finished, spreading her hands. “To remain entirely unaware of what this note now leads to will only cause me a good deal of struggle and frustration. Allow me to remain involved, I beg of you.” Her hands reached out and took his hand in both of her own, in the hope that she might demonstrate her own desperation. “You do not want to carry this burden alone, I am sure.”
Lord Greaves sighed heavily and ran one hand over his eyes. Beatrice held her breath, her heart thundering furiously in her chest as she looked at him, wondering what he was thinking and what he might now say.
“I do not want to put you in any danger, Lady Beatrice,” Lord Greaves muttered, eventually. “I cannot tell you what sort of danger my brother might be in and, therefore, what sort of danger we might face.”
“I shall not even so much as step into a dangerous circumstance,” Beatrice told him, her fingers tightening on his hand. “I give you my word.”
Lord Greaves sighed again, his eyes fixed on her but his jaw working furiously. Clearly he was torn between two responses – one, where he permitted her to aid him in even a small way, or two, where he refused her help outright. Beatrice wanted to say more, wanted to encourage him to think of her again, but found that her mouth would not move, her words would not come.
“I am very much alone in this, Lady Beatrice,” Lord Greaves said, softly, his thumb suddenly brushing across the back of her hand as he looked into her eyes. “I have no-one to come alongside me.”
“But you know I am willing.”
Lord Greaves held her gaze for a long moment, then dropped his head. “There may be suggestions made that –”
“My father has already made such a suggestion,” Beatrice interrupted, aware of how she blushed. “You can be sure that remarks as regards your apparent interest in me are now making their way around the card room.” Ignoring the sudden flare of hope in her heart, Beatrice tried to smile. “But they will only be rumors, Lord Greaves and, as you yourself have said, you give not even a moment’s consideration to such things.” It was something of a foolish remark, given that Lord Greaves was an unattached, handsome and wealthy gentleman and she the unattached daughter of a marquess. If they were to spend time in each other’s company, then most likely, the beau monde would think them to be somewhat interested in each other. For Beatrice herself, she could not pretend that there was not even a single smidgen of hope in her heart, for Lord Greaves was a gentleman of good character and was yet unmarried, and part of her began to hope that, should he agree to her involvement, he might then go on to consider her in such a light. Lady Smithton thought well of him at least, even if Lord Havisham had not yet given his thoughts on the gentleman in question.
“You are correct to state that such things might only be rumor,” Lord Greaves muttered, after a few moments. “I am still reluctant, Lady Beatrice, but I fear that I cannot refuse you.” His eyes were like the sea, stormy and wild, but Beatrice could feel nothing but relief. “I cannot refuse you for fear that you will burn the note and would never talk to me of it again!”
“I should never do such a thing!” Beatrice exclaimed, only to see the slight glimmer of mirth in Lord Greaves’ eyes. “I am not at all as cruel nor as calculating as you might believe, Lord Greaves.”
He watched her for some mo
ments, with Beatrice only just becoming aware of how their hands were still joined. Her breath quickened but she turned her face away, not wanting him to be aware of all that was going on within her.
“I do not think you cruel nor calculating,” came his quiet reply. “It was merely in jest – although mayhap in poor taste. I do not mean to cast aspersions upon your character. Indeed, I look forward to knowing you a little better, Lady Beatrice. It may turn out that I will need your company and your insight into what may well become a very difficult situation indeed.”
Letting her gaze drift back to him, Beatrice saw the sadness cling to Lord Greaves’ expression all over again and felt her heart begin to ache for him. “I am sure that, whatever it is that has occurred, you will be able to set it to rights,” she answered, pressing his hand lightly and then allowing it to drop. “I will expect you tomorrow afternoon?”
“Tomorrow afternoon,” he confirmed, giving her a small smile that seemed to set her very soul alight. “And I shall explain to you all that I know before we press ahead together.”
She curtsied, grateful beyond what she could express for his trust in her. “I thank you, Lord Greaves,” she told him, seeing his slightly rueful smile. “I look forward to seeing you tomorrow so that we might discuss matters further.” Turning on her heel, she made to step away, only for Lord Greaves to call her back, his hand reaching out to grasp at her shoulder.
Her skin seemed to burn as his fingers brushed down over it, his eyes darting here and there in evident embarrassment as she turned back to him.
“I quite forgot, Lady Beatrice,” he said, a little abashed. “Your dance card?”