by Burke, Darcy
“Tell that to the ton. Speculation is already rampant.”
Thomas pressed a finger to his temple. “Why?”
“You’re titled, wealthy, handsome as sin, and you need a wife to mother your child as well as an heir. There are also wagers, which I’m sure you’re aware of.”
He wasn’t, actually, but he could well imagine. People were ruthless. “Those mean nothing to me.”
“Of course they don’t. I only mention them to say that people are expecting you to wed again soon.” She shrugged. “If you wanted to, you could.”
Thomas saw through her. And, frankly, he was rather shocked. “You want me to.”
“I want you to be happy,” she said firmly. “Wed, don’t wed, just do what you must to find comfort. Promise me? You know how much I love you.”
He did, but that didn’t mean he wanted her input about this part of his life. “Regan and I are just fine, as you well know.”
“I can see my counsel is not needed in this area.” She lifted her hands in surrender. “You’ll let me know if I can help in any way?”
“Yes.” Thomas thought of the other woman who’d given him aid. Miss Whitford hadn’t returned since Monday evening. And he’d looked for her every night.
“Will you tell me your plans?” Aunt Charity asked.
“As soon as I have some.” For now he would do what he’d always done—focus on his daughter and his responsibilities as viscount. Again, he thought of Miss Whitford.
He couldn’t imagine how she could be part of his plans.
“Thomas.” Aunt Charity exhaled his name, and though she said nothing else, the word was both full of question and rife with concern. “Forgive me, but I worry about you.” She always had. “I can’t tell how you feel about all this. Are you sad? Relieved? Concealing your joy?” She waved her hand. “Forget I said the last. Of course you aren’t happy.”
No, but if he were honest with himself, he was relieved. He no longer had to worry about protecting Regan from her mother’s rages. And he no longer had to suffer them himself.
“No matter how awful Thea was, she didn’t deserve to die,” he said softly. “It’s…a terrible situation. I honestly don’t know how I’m supposed to feel.” So he was choosing to feel nothing. It wasn’t difficult. Aside from his daughter, he’d learned to bury all emotion over the past five years. Even that hadn’t been hard, because he’d first done it at the age of ten when his mother had died.
Perhaps he was meant to direct all his feelings toward Regan. No, not all of them, just the good ones. The rest he buried. When he didn’t, bad things happened, such as his wife dying.
“You’ll stay for dinner, I hope? Regan will want to see you, and she is napping at present.”
“Yes, of course. Is there correspondence I can help with in the meantime?”
“Absolutely.” He smiled at her. “Now that fills me with relief.”
She smiled widely in return. “There’s my boy. Just tell me what you need.”
“You can use the desk there.” He gestured to the writing desk in the corner near the front window. “There are many notes of condolence, but also some social invitations that arrived either before she died or before her death was known. I suppose you should respond to those, unless people will assume I won’t be coming.”
“I’ll respond. As I said, no one will fault you for going out, not when you’re seen as needing a wife. They may, in fact, expect you to come.”
Thomas rose. “I’ll fetch everything and bring it here.”
She nodded, and he turned to go. “Oh, I did take care of your request regarding Almack’s. And I hope you’ll tell me who Miss Whitford and Lady Gresham are to you.”
“Thank you.” Thomas didn’t look back at her before taking off to his study.
As he gathered the correspondence, one of the missives caught his eye. It was an invitation to a ball to celebrate the engagement of Mr. Henry Sheffield and Lady Gresham. Thomas read the details. It was a masquerade.
His aunt’s words flooded his mind. He could go…
He set the invitation aside and took the rest to Aunt Charity.
* * *
There was a dampness in the air that presaged rain. Beatrix glanced up at the night sky and silently begged it to remain dry. Just for an hour or so. Perhaps a trifle longer.
She probably should not have ventured out, but she hadn’t been able to resist. Now that she was in possession of a voucher to Almack’s as well as a few prestigious invitations to Society events over the next fortnight, she knew the time when she would come face-to-face with her father was nigh. And then she could stop spying on him from Rockbourne’s garden.
Except that would mean she would stop going to Rockbourne’s garden. She’d decided she rather liked going there. More accurately, she liked going to see Rockbourne.
But tonight was to see her father. Or so she told herself as she stole through the gate into the garden.
She hurried along the crushed gravel path that bisected the beds in the middle and made her way to the tree. First, she glanced toward the house, as she’d done since the first night she’d come. She had to make sure no one from Rockbourne’s house saw her.
Standing on the balcony, his gaze trained directly on her, was Rockbourne. As on the other night, he wasn’t wearing a coat. Unlike then, he still wore his cravat. Pity, she’d rather enjoyed ogling that narrow triangle of his chest.
With a giddy rush, Beatrix hastened to the trellis and quickly climbed up to the balcony. He met her at the railing, offering his hand to help her over.
“How gallant,” she said, grinning as she put her fingers in his. She stepped on the railing, and he put his other hand on her waist as he helped her onto the balcony. Instinctively, she grasped his shoulder.
He didn’t immediately release her. They stood close together, their hands clasped, his palm against her hip, her fingertips on his collarbone.
“It’s almost a waltz,” she said softly.
He moved his hand to her back and swept her around as if they were in fact waltzing.
“I haven’t yet waltzed. But I know how.” Selina had hired a woman to give Beatrix dancing and comportment lessons after they’d arrived in London.
He released her then, and she ignored the wave of disappointment. “You’re very good.”
She laughed—as much at his statement as to cover her reaction. “And you’re an excellent liar.”
“That’s actually true.” Before she could ask him what he meant, he gestured to the narrow door leading inside. “Would you care to come in for a glass of madeira? Or whatever you prefer.”
Beatrix wished she wasn’t wearing the suit of men’s clothing. She wanted him to see her in one of the gowns they’d had made for her Season, especially the one she would wear to Selina’s engagement ball. Rafe had insisted on paying for her and Selina to be lavishly outfitted for the occasion.
“Madeira would be lovely, thank you.” She preceded him into a sitting room. Decorated in bright yellow and rose, it had a distinctly feminine atmosphere. She noted there were three other doors, presumably leading to interior rooms. Two were ajar, while the third, to her right, was closed.
“That was her room,” Rockbourne said, handing Beatrix a glass of madeira.
She’d been so focused on studying her surroundings that she hadn’t paid attention to him pouring the drinks. “Thank you.”
Their fingers touched, but she was still wearing gloves. Probably best if she left them on. She sipped the wine. “Mmm, delicious. Do you mind if I take off my hat?” She didn’t need to ask, she realized.
“Not at all.”
She removed the black hat and set it on a small writing desk situated next to the door.
In the center of the room, there was a small settee, really only wide enough for two people, and two chairs. Beatrix perched on one of the chairs and took another sip of wine. She glanced toward the closed door, which was to her right.
“You did
n’t share a bedchamber?” As soon as the question left her mouth, she wished she could take it back. Besides, what did it even mean? Plenty of married couples of his class didn’t share a bedchamber. Or so she’d heard. “I beg your pardon. That was most improper.”
“You’re in the sitting room adjoining my bedchamber after climbing a trellis dressed in men’s clothing. Nothing about this is proper. I can’t say I mind.” He peered at her over his glass of wine as he sat on the settee across from her. He seemed to take it up entirely. Perhaps it wasn’t really large enough for two people. Unless one wanted to sit very close to the other person with whom they were sharing it. Beatrix wouldn’t have minded that at all if Rockbourne was the person.
“So you did share a bedchamber?” she asked, since they’d agreed propriety wasn’t necessary.
He shook his head. “Mine is there.” He inclined his head to the other side of the sitting room. “Would you mind terribly if we didn’t discuss her? The burial was yesterday, and I’m…weary.”
“Of course.” Beatrix longed to wipe away that stressful eleven between his brows.
“Tell me about your father. What is your plan once you reenter his life?”
“It isn’t complicated. I want my father back.”
“I see.” He contemplated her as he drank more wine.
“You’re wondering what will happen if he doesn’t wish to reestablish our relationship. I am not considering that as a possibility. I am hopeful I will impress him so much that he will be ecstatic to have found me.” A part of her hoped he’d been looking for her since she’d fled the seminary.
“You only hope to gain his…affection?” He sounded skeptical.
“Regain. We were close once, before my mother died. I realize he won’t publicly claim me, nor do I expect him to.”
“You’re aware of his other children?”
She pursed her lips at him. “I am.” A son and two married daughters. “I am optimistic he has room in his life for another daughter.”
“I am somewhat of a pessimist, I’m afraid. I need people like you in my life.” He stretched his legs out, and if Beatrix had been sitting in the other chair, she could stretch out her own toe and touch him.
His words made her want to smile. “Then it’s fortuitous that you live next door to my father, which made our paths intersect.”
“For so many reasons,” he murmured. “I could just introduce you to Ramsgate.”
“How would that go? You and I aren’t formally acquainted.”
“That is unfortunately true.”
“Anyway, I have a good plan. I now have a voucher to Almack’s in my possession.” She grinned at him.
“Do you? That’s wonderful.” He lifted his glass. “To you conquering London.”
She raised hers in response, and they both drank. “It’s rather extraordinary, really. I didn’t even meet one of the patronesses.” They typically met everyone before offering a voucher.
“Your sister is marrying the son of an earl. I’m sure that was helpful. I assume the voucher includes her?”
“It does.” She narrowed one eye at him. “Did you have anything to do with it?”
He shrugged.
“Well, if you did, thank you.”
“I take it Lady Gresham isn’t also the duke’s daughter?” The question seemed innocuous, but it was one of the tenuous threads holding Beatrix’s lies together.
“No. Our mother was wed to her father, who died shortly after she was born.” She quickly made up the fabrication and silently repeated it so she would remember what she’d said. If her father decided to publicly claim her, she and Selina would explain to Harry’s family that they’d lied about being sisters to protect Beatrix. They wouldn’t want Harry’s family thinking Selina’s mother was a former courtesan and the mistress of a duke. The reality was that Selina’s mother could be just about anyone.
What a tangle. So much depended on what the duke decided to do once he and Beatrix were reunited. Because of that, she hadn’t planned on what to say in this instance because she’d never revealed her parentage to anyone. She was playing a dangerous game with Rockbourne.
A child’s head poked in through the opening of the third door—the one that didn’t lead to either bedchamber. Blonde curls rioted around a cherubic face. She slipped into the sitting room, a doll clutched in one arm.
Beatrix smiled at her, which drew Rockbourne to turn his head.
He set his wineglass down on a table beside the settee and shot to his feet. “Regan.”
The girl’s gaze was fixed on Beatrix. “Papa, who’s that?”
“Ah, she’s…a friend.”
Regan came toward Beatrix. “I’m Regan. Can I be your friend too?”
“Please,” Beatrix said. She put her glass on a table between the two chairs and leaned forward toward the girl. “Who is your friend?” She inclined her head toward the doll.
“This is Alice. But shh, she’s sleeping. I brought her ’cause she doesn’t like to be alone.”
“You are most kind,” Beatrix said with a soft smile. “I don’t particularly like being alone either.”
Regan tipped her head to the side, her green eyes fixed on Beatrix. “Who keeps you company? Is it my Papa?” She glanced over her shoulder at Rockbourne, who stood in front of the other chair.
Beatrix’s gaze met his for a swift, heated moment. “Sometimes,” she said. “When I come for a visit. Mostly my sister keeps me company.”
“I want a sister.”
“You have Alice,” Beatrix said. “Can you pretend she’s your sister?” The girl nodded. “How old are you, Regan?”
“Three.”
“She’ll be four this summer,” Rockbourne said.
“How old are you?” Regan asked.
Beatrix hated lying to a child, but she always lied about her age. At twenty-six, she was old enough to be on the shelf. “Twenty-two.”
Regan yawned. “Papa, are you that old?”
“Older, if you can believe it.” He suppressed a smile. “I’m thirty. And you, my love, should be in bed.” He swept her into his arms.
She laid her head on his shoulder. “All right.”
He turned and went into his bedchamber. Beatrix wondered if she should leave. While she dithered, he returned, closing the door behind him with a soft click. “In the morning, I will instruct her that she must not tell anyone about my ‘friend.’”
“An excellent plan, thank you,” Beatrix said. “Your daughter can count.”
“To ten. She gets lost after that.” He sat back down on the settee.
“Still, she knew that twenty-two was old.” Beatrix made a face.
Rockbourne laughed. “This is a new and exciting concept for her. My aunt has been spending time with us the past few days, and her hair is completely gray. Regan asked about it and Aunt Charity explained that some people’s hair turns gray when they get older. That sparked a whole conversation about what older means.”
Beatrix grinned. “I wish I could have heard it. She’s delightful.”
“I think so.” He looked like a proud father. Beatrix’s heart tugged.
“You allow her to sleep in your chamber?”
“It’s easier than taking her upstairs, and her nurse knows I don’t mind. Regan is to tell her nurse when she comes down here in the middle of the night. That way, Miss Addy won’t awaken in a dead panic when her charge isn’t in bed. Regan is thrilled to awaken me by poking my forehead and repeating ‘Papa’ about fifty times.”
“That sounds lovely,” Beatrix said with a sigh. “You are an excellent father.”
“Forgive me for saying so, but I think your father is an ass for abandoning you.”
Beatrix stared at him a moment before she could find her words. “Thank you. I used to tell myself he was overcome with grief after losing my mother.”
“I would think that would have bonded him to you even more.” Rockbourne didn’t hide his disdain.
“I have to t
hink he had a good reason.” She wanted to think that. No, she needed to, or else she had to accept that he might never have loved her. It was far easier to believe that seeing her brought him too much pain after losing her mother.
“You’re probably right.” Rockbourne picked up his wine and finished it. “Would you like more madeira?”
“No, thank you. I am not quite finished.” She still had nearly half left, and she was loath to drink it any more quickly. When it was gone, she’d have to leave. Or, she could have more since he didn’t seem in any rush for her to depart.
And really, she should. She shouldn’t even be here at all.
He stood and went to the small sideboard near the door to his bedchamber. After refilling his glass, he returned to the settee. “Your sister’s wedding is soon, isn’t it?”
“A week from next Tuesday at St. George’s in Hanover Square.” She grimaced. “My apologies. I realize that’s where your brother-in-law was to be married last week.”
“He’s better off in Newgate. I can’t say I’m surprised he was extorting people, and not just because I would believe Lord Colton before I would trust Chamberlain.” Lord Colton was the man who’d first accused Chamberlain of extortion. After that, others had come forward. “He is as poison-filled as his sister was.”
Rockbourne gripped his wineglass and took a drink. Beatrix noted the taut muscles of his jaw and neck.
She sought to divert the conversation once more. He’d said he didn’t wish to speak of her, and Beatrix suspected he didn’t even care to think of her just now. She drank more of her wine.
Rockbourne gazed at her intently. “Are you going to keep visiting me?”
“That depends. Are you going to keep inviting me in for madeira?”
“If that’s what it takes, then yes.”
“So you like my company?”
“I do. Right now, it’s…difficult to be alone with my thoughts.”
Beatrix wished she could squeeze herself next to him on the settee, but she didn’t dare. “Why?”
Blowing out a breath, he set his wineglass down on the table. “Guilt?”
She leaned forward. “I’ve told you it wasn’t your fault.”