by Lynn Messina
“Excuse me?” he said.
“I pledged to cease investigating the horrible deaths that cross my path,” she explained, her mood lightening a little as she felt the warmth of the sun on her face. The ache in her head continued unabated, but the one in her heart started to subside. “That was the promise you extracted and the promise by which I will abide.”
“I cannot perceive a distinction,” he said as he urged his team around a curricle that was stopped in the middle of the road.
“I know, your grace, and for that I’m grateful,” she said, before commending him on his skill as a whipster. It was a diversionary tactic, to be sure, but also a sincere compliment, for she had long admired men who could control four high-steppers at once. “Are you a member of the Four Horse Club?”
“I am not, no,” he said, “for I find the idea of aping the ways and dress of my coachman to be more insult than homage. I have far too much respect for Jenkins to submit him to that injury. Now do stop trying to distract me and explain what you mean by horrible deaths that cross your path. You do not mean that you will seek out horrible deaths to investigate.”
The outraged horror in his tone made Bea laugh, something she had not thought possible only a few moments before, and she winced when the cut in her lip smarted. “How would I go about that, your grace?”
She posed her denial as a question in order to underscore the utter ridiculousness of his suggestion. At the same time, however, it was a legitimate query, for she had no idea how one would go about finding unusual deaths to investigate. She wondered what method the Bow Street Runners had contrived to stay abreast of public crime and if that technique was available to private citizens.
Recognizing the ambiguity of her response, Kesgrave pressed for a firm disavowal, which Bea evaded by discussing her long-cherished desire to learn how to drive a team of four. For each insistence he made for a straightforward answer, she reminisced about another sedate nag she was forced to endure at Welldale House. There were so many retired hacks to catalog, she didn’t have to invent a single one, although she was thoroughly prepared to do so if necessary. She was enjoying the exchange far too much to let it end a moment before they arrived at her home, for it allowed her to forget both the immediate past and the immediate future. For a little while, she was free of Mr. Cornyn’s tragic decisions and Mr. Wright’s battered face.
Inevitably, the coach stopped in front of Aunt Vera’s town house, and Bea insisted on climbing down on her own. The moment of their separation had arrived, and she wanted the break to be as clean as possible. The thought of his treating her with the courtesy due any young woman in his company was intolerable to her, for she longed to be more than just any young woman. That was clear to her now as she contemplated the severing of their bond. With the apprehension of Lord Fazeley’s murderer, they had no cause to further their association. Kesgrave was free to set up his nursery with an Incomparable of impeccable breeding, and she was free to return to a life of quiet occupation.
They would meet again, of course, for the season was just getting started and they would frequently be at the same parties and balls. But their interactions would bear no mark of familiarity. They would be sterile and polite and contain none of the informality or intimacy of a sidewalk on the Strand.
That thought made Bea desperately sad.
She’d been so sure she was in no real danger from the duke, so confident that her feelings were mild and measured and easily resolved. And yet when he’d threatened Mr. Hill with certain execution, when he’d revealed the true extent of his power, it had thrown into stark relief the inadequacies of her situation. This man who had been born to privilege in a way she could barely conceive would never love her.
What of it, she’d thought in brazen defiance.
But as defiant as she was, her heart knew the truth and fluttered wildly in despair.
It was love—pure, simple, disastrous.
’Twas laughable that she could come to this. Nothing in her life of deliberate appeasement and docility had prepared her for such immoderate extremity. Indeed, it still seemed vaguely impossible to her that she had strayed so far from the path of entrenched practicality she had walked for the first six and twenty years of her life.
At least now she had something to mourn properly, she thought mockingly, determined not to wallow in the tragic turn her life had suddenly taken. As was her practice, she would be amused and diverted by the ridiculousness of the situation.
Middling Beatrice Hyde-Clare in love with the high-flying Duke of Kesgrave. It was the apogee of a very good joke.
Kesgrave frowned at her refusal to accept his help but stepped back and allowed her to dismount the carriage on her own. Once they were both firmly on the ground, she held out her hand as a sign of respect and an indication that she considered them equals. She’d expected resistance, but the duke, either recognizing the meaning of the gesture or being far too sensible to argue with a battered woman, took her hand in his own.
Too exhausted from the day’s travails to have any self-respect left, Bea allowed herself to relish the pleasure of his firm grip, succumbing momentarily, fleetingly, to the exquisite ache of the hopelessness of her passion.
As absurd as the whole thing was, she took some comfort in knowing how high her standards were. All those clergymen and third sons Aunt Vera had thrown at her head had never stood a stance.
With his hand still clutched in hers, she offered her gratitude with an honest simplicity no one could possibly doubt. “Thank you, Damien. I could not have arrived at the truth without you.”
She expected him to respond with amusement—either sincere or mocking—at her daring to use his name, but he regarded her steadily and said with equal gravity. “You’re welcome, Beatrice. It was my privilege.”
Both observations were fitting tributes, and since they seemed to leave no thought unsaid, Bea withdrew her hand from his grip and turned to walk up the path to her uncle’s house. She knew it did not sit well with him to let a young lady subject herself to the harsh criticism of her family without making an effort to mitigate their judgment, and she considered it a sign of his respect that he didn’t attempt to intervene.
It was bittersweet, she thought, knowing that he understood so much about her and yet comprehended nothing at all.
Although the consequences of that day’s revelations would have to be dealt with in the weeks and perhaps months to come, they lacked the urgency of two blackened eyes and an inappropriate outfit scandalously appropriated from her cousin’s closet. Indeed, she was almost grateful for her bruised face because it gave her an ache to focus on that had nothing to do with her heart.
And focus on it she must, Bea thought as she strode up the stone path, for she was about to enter her uncle’s house with no ready explanation to account for her unlikely appearance.
Even in her disheartened state, she could not bear the thought of conceding a battle without a fight, and at once her mind began to work on the problem. She was the clever young woman who had solved two murders. Surely, she could come up with a convincing fiction that would justify everything and earn her family’s sympathy.
And yet, as she drew closer to the front door, her brain remained stubbornly blank.
Bea didn’t panic or slow down her steps, and she resisted the almost overwhelming urge to glance back at the duke, who she knew was still watching, for she had yet to hear his horses pull away. No, she had only one option and that was to keep moving forward—along the path, up the stairs, into the house. It was all she’d had from the moment her dead parents’ solicitor had deposited her on this very doorstep twenty years ago.
Calmly, deliberately, she climbed the steps and knocked on the door. Kesgrave’s gaze was like an itch on the back of her neck, and she ordered herself to resist its pull.
You’re stronger than that, she thought, as the door suddenly opened and Dawson’s dulcet greeting was interrupted by his horrified gasp. Clearly, he had not expected to fin
d a battered and bruised stranger standing on the threshold.
And it was then, when she read the horror and confusion on his face as he tried to figure out which stratagem to deploy to dispense with this unsightly invention she presented for his inspection, that she finally knew what to say: Mr. Davies’s funeral.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Lynn Messina is the author of more than a dozen novels, including the best-selling Fashionistas, which has been translated into 16 languages. Her essays have appeared in Self, American Baby and the Modern Love column in the New York Times, and she’s a regular contributor to the Times Motherlode blog. She lives in New York City with her sons.
Itching for more Bea?
Don’t worry, she’s on the case.
A BRAZEN CURIOSITY
Twenty-six-year-old Beatrice Hyde-Clare is far too shy to investigate the suspicious death of a fellow guest in the Lake District. A spinster who lives on the sufferance of her relatives, she would certainly not presume to search the rooms of her host's son and his friend looking for evidence. Reared in the twin virtues of deference and docility, she would absolutely never think to question the imperious Duke of Kesgrave about anything, let alone how he chose to represent the incident to the local constable.
And yet when she stumbles upon the bludgeoned corpse of poor Mr. Otley in the deserted library of the Skeffingtons' country house, that's exactly what she does.
A SCANDALOUS DECEPTION
As much as Beatrice Hyde-Clare relished the challenge of figuring out who murdered a fellow guest during a house party in the Lake District, she certainly does not consider herself an amateur investigator. So when a London dandy falls dead at her feet in the entryway of the London Daily Gazette, she feels no compulsion to investigate. It was a newspaper office, after all, and reporters are already on the case as are the authorities. She has her own problems to deal with anyway-such as extricating herself from a seemingly harmless little fib that has somehow grown in into a ridiculously large fiction.
Truly, she has no interest at all. Except the dagger that killed the poor earl seemed disconcertingly familiar…
And so Bea is off to the British Museum because she cannot rest until she confirms her suspicion, while trying to allay her family's concerns and comprehend the Duke of Kesgrave's compulsion. For the handsome lord has no reason to waste his time solving a mystery alongside a shy spinster. And yet he turns up everywhere she goes.
AN INFAMOUS BETRAYAL
Having solved the two murders that somehow fell in her path, Beatrice Hyde-Clare is on the lookout for a third. Through a absurd quirk of stupid fate, the shy spinster has fallen in love with the thoroughly unattainable Duke of Kesgrave and is desperate for something, anything, to occupy her mind. A dead body would do nicely.
Fortunately for her, a fellow guest from a Lake District house party appears on her doorstep with exactly that: the lover of his fiancée's mother expired after a wretchedly painful episode just that morning in an apparent poisoning. As unorthodox as it is, he would like Bea to investigate rather than calling the authorities.
Bea begins her inquiry into Mr. Wilson's death at once and almost immediately finds herself in the company of Kesgrave, who is as determined as ever to assist her. 'Twas patently unfair, for the whole point of the investigation was to get away from the handsome lord.
Now Bea is faced with the daunting challenge of exposing the villain without revealing her heart.
Anything can happen in Regency London, as five headstrong and passionate women defy propriety and find love with powerful lords as determined as they are.
THE HARLOW HOYDEN
Book One
A bold young woman devises a simple scheme to save her sister from a loveless marriage, but her plan quickly goes awry when she finds herself irresistibly drawn to the handsome duke to whom she's trying to attach her sister.
Available now!
THE OTHER HARLOW GIRL
Book Two
The usually prudent Lavinia Harlow makes the remarkably imprudent decision to pursue membership to the British Horticultural Society in order to prove something to the very provoking—and all too appealing—Marquess of Huntly.
Available now!
THE FELLINGHAM MINX
Book Three
A reigning beauty's sparkling wit dries up whenever she's in the presence of a dashing earl whom she longs to impress.
Available now!
THE BOLINGBROKE CHIT
Book Four
A talented artist who has put herself firmly on the shelf feels her resolve weaken when she meets a charismatic lord far too tempting to resist.
Available now!
THE IMPERTINENT MISS TEMPLETON
Book Five
A clever spinster with a talent for solving problems refuses to be cowed by a imperious earl—no matter how much she craves his good opinion.
Available now!
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MISS FELLINGHAM’S REBELLION
When the actions of her scatterbrained mother threatens to plunge the family into scandal, Catherine decides she can no longer bear her own timidity and boldly enters into a dangerous game with a charming marquess.
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PREJUDICE & PRIDE
1“An imaginative and witty retelling of
universally acknowledged truths.”
—Kirkus Reviews