Lady Smithton chuckled. “All of London save for Lord Greaves,” she answered, with a small shrug. “Lord Havisham believes that he spoke the truth and Lord Havisham is usually well able to tell whether or not a gentleman is making some sort of pretense.”
“Then I am surprised,” Beatrice acknowledged, as Lady Smithton murmured her agreement. “But a little relieved also.” She thought back to how he had turned away from her the night of the ball, wondering if his reasons for doing so were more convoluted than she had first thought.
“And as for your inability to pursue a gentleman simply because you are the lady, you are quite mistaken there, Lady Beatrice.” Lady Smithton threw her a quick smile. “You can make your interest known, at least. “
“But he might very well reject me,” Beatrice answered quickly, feeling a sudden flush of embarrassment. “What then?”
Lady Smithton lifted one shoulder. “Then it would be his mistake and his alone,” she countered. “And you would know to turn your attention towards another.” The smile grew although Lady Smithton’s expression became gentle. “You have become a much stronger within yourself of late, Lady Beatrice,” she said, as Beatrice held her gaze. “There is nothing to be ashamed of in that. Rather, you ought to be proud that you have stepped away from the shadow of disgrace that your father brought to you and have managed to hold your head high regardless of what the ton might say.”
Beatrice swallowed hard, her cheeks a little warm. “I have only been able to do so thanks to your guidance,” she said, honestly, as Lady Smithton waved a hand as if to dismiss what Beatrice said. “I am still well aware of the beau monde and how they look at me, what they must whisper of me. But because I have both you and Lord Havisham as my acquaintances and within my company, I find that I am able to ignore it a good deal more easily than before.”
“And your father has not said anything further, which is encouraging,” Lady Smithton added, as Beatrice’s expression grew somewhat grim. “You do not think he will say anything again?”
“I must hope not,” Beatrice answered, a little darkly. “We do not speak a great deal but I see how he continues to spend his time playing cards and drinking a good deal of liquor.” Her sigh was a heavy one. “I can only pray he will not say anything more.”
Lady Smithton lifted one eyebrow. “Or you might find the courage within yourself to tell him such a thing,” she suggested, sending a flurry of ice all down Beatrice’s back. “You have more strength within you than ever before and mayhap, one day, you will be able to tell your father precisely what you need from him.” She held Beatrice’s gaze for a moment longer and then turned to meander through the bookshop.
Beatrice shook her head, thinking silently to herself that to speak so openly with her father was not something she could even consider at present. They had barely spoken since the news of her father’s foolishness had rattled through London, and Beatrice could not be certain that her father would not behave so again. Would she ever have the strength to tell him the truth of what she felt? What did she expect of him? Or would she continue to remain silent, praying that her father would never again say something so foolish?
Sighing inwardly and pushing all thoughts of her father aside, Beatrice turned her attention to the shelves of books, thinking that it might be nice to spend a little of her pin money on something new to read. Her father gave her very little pin money so Beatrice knew to spend it wisely – although she was not the sort of young lady inclined to purchase new gloves or a brand new bonnet for herself. Moving slowly along the row of books, with nothing catching her eye, she suddenly felt someone slamming hard into her, knocking the breath from her body as she stumbled back, her hands grasping at air in an attempt to keep herself from falling.
It was of no use. The gentleman threw a quick glance back at her, his face one that she did not recognize, only for him to then turn away again and hurry back up to the front of the shop.
“Good gracious!” Lady Smithton was beside her in a moment, helping her to her feet and giving her an anxious look. “Are you quite all right, Lady Beatrice?”
Beatrice tried to drag in air, shock ricocheting through her as she allowed Lady Smithton to support her weight.
“That was a most uncouth fellow,” Lady Smithton continued, as the bookshop owner came hurrying over to assist Beatrice further. “What could he have been doing, rushing through the shop like that?”
“I am quite all right,” Beatrice assured both Lady Smithton and the tall, thin man who had come to her aid. “It was just the shock of being knocked back so.” She managed a small smile as the bookshop owner expressed his sympathies, although unfortunately, he did not know the identity of the gentleman in question.
“You did see his face, however, did you not?” Lady Smithton asked him, as she let Beatrice’s arm go carefully. “Might you know him again?”
The bookshop owner shuffled his feet, thinking hard. “I think I would, my lady, yes.”
“Good.” Lady Smithton was angry now, her back stiff and her shoulders rising. “Then should you see him again, I should very much like to know. Might you do your best to discover his name, should he appear again?” The bookshop owner was nodding fervently, perhaps in the hope of some sort of reward, and Beatrice managed a tight smile towards Lady Smithton as she threw Beatrice a quick glance.
“Lady Beatrice, will you be quite all right for a few moments?” Lady Smithton asked, urgently. “I must ensure that this gentleman here –” She paused, giving the man a sharp look.
“Mr. Jones,” the man stammered, as Lady Smithton gave him a quick nod.
“I must ensure that Mr. Jones knows precisely what to do should that gentleman come in again,” Lady Smithton said, as Beatrice nodded. “And I must give him my card. Such behavior should not be permitted to pass unnoticed and without any consequences!”
“I am perfectly all right,” Beatrice assured her, pressing Lady Smithton’s arm. “I thank you. It was just the shock of being pushed in such a manner but I am much improved now.” She smiled as Lady Smithton searched her face, only to nod and step away, reassuring Beatrice that she would only be a few minutes.
Beatrice sighed and shook her head, wondering at what sort of gentleman would behave in such a manner and more than a little appalled that, not only had he knocked her to the ground, he had seen her lying there and had continued on his way regardless. Sighing yet again, she continued her previous meander along the shelves of books, making her way further into the recesses of the bookshop.
One book suddenly caught her eye. It was not because it bore any sort of exciting cover, nor because the title grabbed at her interest. Instead, it was because of how it stuck out a little from the others, as though it wanted her to come in search of it. A little intrigued, Beatrice reached out and pulled it out from amongst the other books. It was not a particularly heavy book and certainly not large in size, but from the dust that coated the tops of all of the books on this particular shelf, she did not think that any of them had been shown any sort of interest over the last few years. Uncertain as to why she was now looking at the book with such fascination, Beatrice turned it over in her hand, reading the front cover and the author.
“‘A History of London, Volume Four’,” she said aloud, although her voice remained quiet. “Certainly not the sort of book that I would have any interest in reading.” She was about to put it back on the shelf when something else caught her eye. There was a page or two sticking up just a little out of the top of the book. She could not very well put the book back when some of its pages were in disarray! Setting the book down carefully on top of the other books on the shelf, Beatrice opened it up and wrinkled her nose at the dust that came from it. Evidently, no-one had much wanted to read about the history of London, given just how much dust came from it! Shaking her head to herself, she set about trying to find the place where these two pages were sticking up, turning one page and then the other until, finally, she reached the place where they were.
She expected to find one or two pages that were not sitting flat, that needed to be smoothed out and corrected, but instead all she saw was a small piece of parchment sitting, folded up, in the middle of the book. It had set one or two pages in disarray but something within her began to question whether or not that had been deliberate.
Her breath caught.
This is not for you, she told herself, firmly. This note is not for you to read.
Her hand hovered over the parchment as she battled against the urge to pull it out and to read it through. Warring within herself, Beatrice pulled the parchment out carefully and, forgetting entirely about the book itself, opened it up at once.
There was very little written on the note. In fact, all it had was an address. Nothing more. For whatever reason, disappointment surged through her as though she had been expecting something wonderful, something exciting to be written there. Something that might capture her attention, might thrust her into some sort of wonderful adventure.
It was not to be so, however. Folding up the note again, she made to put it back into the book, only to hesitate. Her fingers strayed over the page, not quite letting the note go. Something within her wanted her to keep a hold of it, wanted to hold it tight just in case it should mean something. Just in case it should turn into something more.
“It is an address,” she said aloud, as though berating herself. “Stop being so very foolish, Beatrice.” Putting the note back inside the book, she closed it tightly and then pushed it back on the shelf, turning away so as to greet Lady Smithton.
Only for her then to turn about again, haul the book out of the shelf, throw it open and pull the note out once more. She could not explain the urgency with which she did so, nor why the thought of leaving the shop without the note in her pocket tore at her mind, but Beatrice knew that her mind would not be content to leave it there.
“Gracious, Lady Beatrice, you look quite flustered!” Lady Smithton exclaimed, coming closer to her and scrutinizing her carefully. “Are you quite well?”
“Yes, yes indeed,” Beatrice answered, one hand pressed against her heart. “I am quite all right, Lady Smithton.”
Lady Smithton said nothing for a moment or two, looking at Beatrice carefully as though she expected to see something within Beatrice’s expression. But she saw nothing and, thus, she smiled and gestured to the door.
“Should you like to come and take tea with me somewhere?” she asked, looking behind Beatrice. “Or is there a book that has caught your attention?”
Beatrice shook her head. “I would much prefer to go to tea,” she said, firmly. “I am quite contented, Lady Smithton, truly.”
Lady Smithton nodded. “Of course,” she answered, still looking at Beatrice keenly. “You will need some fortifying after such a shock!” She gestured towards the door. “Come. Let us go at once.”
Beatrice smiled, the note burning a hole in her pocket as she followed behind Lady Smithton. There was no good reason for her to tell Lady Smithton what she had uncovered, nor that she had taken the note with her for, no doubt, Lady Smithton would think her quite foolish. Most likely, she was being foolish but still, she could not have left the note there untouched.
“Oh, good afternoon, Lord Greaves.”
Beatrice stepped back just a little as the door opened to admit one rather harassed looking Lord Greaves. Pulling his hat from his head at once, he bowed towards Lady Smithton, before turning towards Beatrice.
“Good afternoon,” he said, with a tight smile in their direction, although his eyes drifted towards another part of the shop. “Are you both just about to take your leave?”
“We are,” Beatrice answered, a little surprised by Lord Greaves’ demeanor. He appeared to be rather tense, with a whiteness about his lips and a desperate look in his eye. “Are you quite all right, Lord Greaves?”
He seemed to snap to attention, as though he had not realized his gaze was drifting to another part of the room. “Perfectly,” he stated, clearing his throat abruptly. “Perfectly all right, Lady Beatrice.” Bowing, he gave her a small smile, which did nothing to release the tension from his eyes. “Do excuse me.”
Beatrice, a little confused by his swift change in demeanor, bobbed a quick curtsy and then followed out after Lady Smithton. The door closed behind them, leaving Lord Greaves inside whilst they both began to walk towards the tea room.
“Lord Greaves seemed a little on edge, do you not think?” Beatrice murmured, as Lady Smithton glanced at her. “Wary, almost.”
Lady Smithton nodded slowly, her eyes a little curious. “Indeed,” she said, agreeing with Beatrice without hesitation. “He is a man who likes to put out a very fine appearance but keeps all of what he feels within his own heart, I think.”
Beatrice could not help but agree. “I have heard that he is a gentleman unwilling to even listen to rumor, for he feels that such things are not at all suitable for a gentleman,” she said, quietly. “He is the antithesis of everything improper and unsuitable.”
A chuckle escaped from Lady Smithton. “You have him already clearly understood in your mind, do you not?” she said, making Beatrice flush a little self-consciously. “I do not think that he is easily dismissed from your mind, Lady Beatrice, even though you try to pretend it is not so.”
The flush that had crept into Beatrice’s cheeks remained. “He is not unhandsome,” she began, slowly, as Lady Smithton lifted one eyebrow in interest. “And mayhap because he is a gentleman so unwilling to listen to gossip, I find myself drawn to him a little more.” Pressing her lips together, she frowned hard, trying to sort out within herself all that she felt. “And he did apologize for that rude behavior at the ball.”
“And he is to dance with you at the next,” Lady Smithton replied, as they neared the tea room. “I do not think there is anything unwholesome about Lord Greaves, Lady Beatrice, but I shall ask Lord Havisham what he knows of the gentleman to see if he will be able to uncover anything that would be worth noting.” She gave Beatrice a wry smile. “Gentlemen are well able to hide all sorts of things until it is much too late,” she finished, perhaps, Beatrice thought, speaking of her own situation. “It is best we find out all we can about Lord Greaves.”
Beatrice swallowed the sudden lump in her throat, feeling a good deal of uncertainty over what was being discussed. She did not know Lord Greaves very well at all and, as yet, he had not shown her any particular interest – but it seemed to be enough for Lady Smithton to decide that certain things needed to be put in place regardless. Her stomach swirled with an anxiety that had not filled her before, making her press one hand to her stomach lightly. Was there even a hint of excitement there? An excitement that came from the possibility of attentions from Lord Greaves? She did not want to allow herself to feel it too greatly, given that Lord Greaves might prove to be entirely disinterested in her.
“Tea and cakes,” Lady Smithton said, turning the conversation away from Lord Greaves and granting Beatrice a short respite. “That will suit us both very well, I think.”
“I could not agree more,” Beatrice murmured in earnest, hoping that, somehow, she would be able to put all thought of Lord Greaves from her mind for the time being – although at least now, she had that note and the address written down upon it to distract her!
Chapter Five
“A note has arrived for you, my lord.”
Frederick looked up disinterestedly at the tray that bore said note being presented to him by his butler. He had been enjoying reading the morning paper – aside from the gossip columns, of course – and felt it was a little too early for people to be writing to him already.
“When did it arrive?” he asked, heavily, taking the note from the tray and sighing as he looked down at it. “And is there someone waiting for my reply?” Most likely, it would be some invitation to some sort of social occasion, although Frederick had no interest in attending anything other than tonight’s ball, where he would fulfill his promise to Lady Beatrice by signing no
t one but two dances. For whatever reason, that was the only thing he could think of at present.
“It was handed to the staff by one of those ragamuffins,” the butler said distastefully, referring to the children who roamed the London streets. “Quite what they were doing in this part of town, I cannot imagine!”
Frederick snorted. “Most likely, they were given a coin or two for their trouble.” He glanced up at his butler. “I presume that the boy is not waiting?”
“No,” the butler answered, quickly. “He is not waiting. There appeared to be no eagerness for any sort of reply.”
Frederick nodded, a slight frown flickering across his brow as he considered why a street urchin would be delivering notes from another person of the beau monde. Dismissing the butler, Frederick reached to pour himself another cup of tea, adding a dash of milk to the amber liquid before he broke open the seal. There was no mark in the seal, leaving it just plain wax, which confused Frederick all the more. This was not, then, a note from someone he knew. Perhaps not even someone from within the ton, given that every person he knew had a seal that would be pressed into the wax. A knot of tension settled in his stomach and he pushed his tea away before unfolding the note.
‘Your brother is a fool,’ he read, silently. ‘With great debts come great consequences. Should you wish to help him, look for the History of London in Dauton’s. Your next instructions will be there.’
Frederick stared at the note, reading it over and over again before it finally began to make sense to him. His brother had somehow managed to get himself into a severe amount of difficulty and, as such, was now paying the price for such folly. Although what consequences such a thing might be, Frederick could not even begin to consider.
Shaking his head to himself, Frederick let the note fall to the table, his eyes fixed on it. Surely Adlington had not managed to get himself into some sort of deathly difficulty? He knew that his brother was very foolish when it came to gambling and the like, but he had never once thought that he would be idiotic enough to allow himself to be pulled into such a dark situation as this! Rubbing his hand over his eyes, Frederick took in a long breath, feeling a shudder run through him. His brother was a fool, yes, but that did not mean that Frederick could simply abandon him.
A Lord Undone: The Spinsters Guild (Book 5) Page 5