by Leenie Brown
Max shrugged. “I am not certain, but I would not be surprised should it happen.” His eyes narrowed as he studied his sister’s face. “You do not still like him, do you?”
Max had found Bea’s diary about four years ago and had read her confessions of love for Everett Clayton.
Bea shrugged.
Max sighed and pulled her into his embrace. “Do you wish for me to speak to him?”
“No,” Bea said with some force. “He must not know.”
Max released her and, placing her hand in the crook of his arm again, began a short circuit of the drive rather than returning directly to the house. “I could –”
“No,” Bea interrupted. “I only wished to know so I might prepare myself.”
Max stopped and stood for a moment silently shaking his head. “If I had known you still harboured feelings for him, I could have arranged things, made comments, promoted you.” His eyes shimmered when he turned to her. “You know I would do anything to see you happy and protect you from harm.”
She nodded, her lip trembling at seeing such emotion on her brother’s face. “It is why I could not tell you,” she whispered. “I am not the sort of lady who schemes and steals her way into a gentleman’s affections.”
“Ah, Bea.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulder, and they continued walking. “Perhaps he is merely infatuated and having a bit of a flirt. It is a rather pleasant thing to be the object of a lady’s attention.”
“Perhaps he is,” Bea agreed. “But I fear that even if it is just a passing fancy for him, Felicity seems determined to ensnare him.”
Her brother blew out a breath. “I shall warn him if I can.”
“Thank you,” Bea wrapped her arm around his middle and squeezed him tightly. “Even if he is never to love me, I should hate to see him taken in.” She sighed. “However, Felicity might love him in earnest. Perhaps you should not say a thing.”
“I shall only plant a seed of caution. I shall not accuse our cousin of anything heinous.”
Bea squeezed him again. She was fortunate to have such a brother to whom she could speak so openly and who cared so well for her. Not everyone was so blessed.
“Here comes Clayton now,” said her brother, nodding toward the road.
“Two carriages?” asked Bea. “Could they have not ridden together? And when did they get a curricle?”
Max waved vigorously at the approaching vehicles. “That is Shelton’s curricle.”
“Who is Mr. Shelton?” Bea asked a bit breathlessly. It seemed Max had forgotten she was still holding his arm, for his strides had lengthened, and she had to scamper to keep up.
“A friend of Graeme’s — the fellow he went to visit about a horse. You remember that, do you not?”
“Max, please. Could we please assume a more sedate pace?” She pulled on his arm.
“My apologies,” he muttered as he slowed.
Thankfully, they reached the steps before either vehicle, and Bea was given a moment to bring her breathing back under control before having to make any greetings.
~*~*~
“She’s quite the beauty, is she not?” Roger Shelton eased himself down next to Graeme, who was seated a short distance away from Bea.
Graeme had wanted to sit with Bea as she drew, but since that would likely mean Shelton would follow suit, he did not. He knew how Bea enjoyed drawing in quietness, and Shelton was not the quietest of men.
“Which one?” Graeme asked, sparing only a glance at his friend before returning his eyes to his book, which was propped in such a fashion that he could appear to be reading and yet steal glances at Bea.
She had looked well earlier, but yesterday, her features had been drawn and tired, causing him to worry that she was becoming unwell. Bea would never admit such a thing until it was beyond what was acceptable and the apothecary would have to be called. As odd as it was to imagine, he actually wished she was the sort of lady who complained, but she was not.
“The one on your brother’s arm.”
“Ah, Miss Love. Did you not meet her in town at the Abernathy’s soiree?”
Shelton snapped his fingers. “That’s it! I have been attempting to place her all day. She is Amelia Abernathy’s friend.” He tipped his head. “I am surprised she did not latch on to you instead of your brother. I heard she was looking for money.”
Graeme shrugged. “I heard the same, but I was not here when she arrived.” He shifted and closed his book. “She had my brother well enchanted before I appeared. Not that I would have allowed her sort to cling to me anyway.”
“Her sort?’ Shelton asked with a laugh. “When did you become so discriminating in your tastes? There was a time when a pretty face and a pleasing figure was all that was needed to catch your interest.”
“Not if they were the sort to cry compromise, which she is. Besides, I do not like her — not even well enough for a dalliance.”
Shelton’s brows rose. “Your brother seems to like her quite well.”
“I also do not like that,” Graeme replied firmly. “I have warned him, but you know Everett.”
Shelton nodded. “He tends to think he is always right.”
“Precisely so.”
“Do you think he genuinely likes her?”
Graeme sighed. “Yes. I have considered the possibility.” As much as he wished with all his heart that Everett was merely being duped, he could not deny that his brother seemed truly besotted and not just a complete fool. He stole a look at Bea. He had still not reasoned out how his brother could prefer Miss Love over Bea.
“She’s a pretty thing as well,” Shelton whispered as he indicated Bea with a nod of his head.
“Why are you whispering?” Graeme demanded as a quiver of irritation at the comment settled in his gut.
“I do not want her brother to hear me say such a thing. He seemed rather protective of her when I was introduced.”
Graeme chuckled. “Your reputation precedes you, my friend. Any brother with half an ounce of sense would be protective of a pretty sister around you. I swear you reek of charm and seduction.”
Shelton shrugged. “I do, do I not? But then so do you — or at least you used to. However, there is something different about you today. You are shunning pretty girls and keeping watch over her.” Again, he indicated Bea with a nod of his head. “Is she special?”
Graeme smiled and nodded. “She’s Bea.”
“I do not follow.”
“Her father and mine were good friends since childhood, and to make a long and tediously boring tale short, ten years ago, when Bea was nine and Max was sixteen, their father, Captain Tierney, moved them to Heathcote. He left shortly after they were settled and never returned — killed by the Spanish or the French. It is hard to tell the nationality of a bullet. My father had promised to care for the captain’s family if such a thing happened.”
“So, she is like a sister?”
Graeme shook his head. “No, not a sister. A friend.” A very dear friend, he added to himself. “She likes my brother,” Graeme blurted. “She has for some time.” He huffed. It was a sound of exasperation. “I have attempted to draw his attention away from Miss Love to Bea, but he is too besotted.” He shook his head. “He is going to break Bea’s heart, and I could throttle him for it.”
Shelton’s eyes were wide and his eyebrows raised in surprise.
“Bea is quiet and all that is good. She is kind and helpful. She never wishes for praise but always wishes to please. She would make a perfect parson’s wife, but my brother is too stupid to recognize her worth.”
“Are you certain you do not think of her as a sister? For you speak like a brother or –” Shelton tilted his head and studied his friend. “You love her.”
Graeme’s brows furrowed, and he shook his head in disbelief. “Of course, I love her. She’s Bea.” He moved to rise, but Shelton’s hand on his arm stopped him.
“No, not as a friend. She’s the one you spoke about when you visited, is she not?
”
Graeme blew out a breath and turned to face his friend. “Bea loves my brother, and I only wish to see her happy.” No matter how the idea of his brother marrying Bea irritated him! She deserved better than a dolt who had to be convinced of her worth rather than recognizing it of his own volition.
Shelton nodded his head slowly as if he were considering what Graeme was saying, but Graeme knew better. Shelton was reasoning things out, piecing things together, and drawing conclusions. A gentleman did not survive as a rake and be generally well-liked as Shelton had without a keen mind.
“She loves my brother,” Graeme repeated. It had been foolish of him to speak to Shelton about a lady whom he found enchanting but was unavailable. However, his tongue had been loosened by alcohol that night after they had ridden out to purchase Shelton’s new hunter, and the things that Graeme had been pondering since the evening he had nearly kissed Bea during that blasted card game had come spilling out. He had been wise enough to leave out names, but still, he knew Shelton was no fool.
“You truly wish to see her happy?”
Graeme looked at Shelton warily. “Yes.”
Shelton smiled. “Then, capture her heart before your brother can break it.”
The hairs on the back of Graeme’s neck bristled. The smile Shelton was wearing was calculating. He had seen it before — often right before some poor chap was about to be fleeced or lose his lady.
“I consider myself the charitable sort,” Shelton continued, “and I am approaching that age where a wife will be expected. I could save her heart from harm.”
Graeme’s eyes narrowed. “You will stay away from her,” he growled.
Shelton chuckled, clearly enjoying taunting his friend. “Will you call me out if I do not?”
Graeme folded his arms and smirked in return. Shelton knew that Graeme would never call anyone out. It was, for one thing, illegal, and for another, Graeme was not the best shot nor all that adept with a sword. So to use a duel as a threat would be of no effect. However, there was a threat that Graeme knew would shake Shelton. “No, I will shoot your horse.”
Shelton chuckled again. “Very well, I will not risk my horse unless I see it is necessary to do so.” He rose. “However, I think I shall see what Miss Tierney has been drawing — just in the way of being friendly and all. Would you care to join me?”
“Did you say you were returning home tonight?” Graeme asked hopefully as he scrambled to his feet.
Shelton shook his head. “No, your mother said I may stay the week. She is a dear, is she not?”
“I promise you I will shoot your horse,” Graeme grumbled as he followed Shelton over to where Bea was sitting.
Chapter 5
“Have a go, Miss Tierney.” Shelton held out his racket to Bea. “Miss Grace has already outdone me three times. I am quite fatigued.” He smiled and wiggled the racket in invitation. “Your brother says you are quite good at this game.”
“Go on, Bea,” Max encouraged, as he dropped onto the bench next to his sister. “Neither Shelton nor I have been able to beat her. You are our only hope to dethrone Grace as queen of the shuttlecock.”
“Could not Grace and Felicity play each other?” Bea asked. She had been riding earlier that day and, with the weather being so warm, was feeling the first pangs of a headache. A rest would likely drive those pains way while a vigorous game would not.
“Felicity will not play anyone that does not bear the last name Clayton,” Shelton grumbled.
“No matter how loudly anyone bearing that name protests,” added Max.
Bea’s lips curled into a playful smile, and her eyes twinkled with amusement. “It does appear that Mr. Clayton is in a rather foul mood.”
Max chuckled. “I am impressed that he has not yet stomped off in a huff.”
Shelton eased down onto the bench beside Max. “He’ll endure as long as he feels there might be a hope of victory. Loss never sits well with him — a loss to a lady sits even less well.”
Max took the racquet Shelton still held and passed it to Bea. “One game,” he begged. “Losing to a female does not sit well with any gentleman, and begging his sister to take up his defense is not easily done. Please, take pity on us and defend our honour.” He clasped his hands in front of him and turned doleful eyes to her.
“You are pitiful.” Bea laughed as she rose. “I shall do my best to restore your honour.” She curtseyed deeply to the gentlemen on the bench. “I do hope there is a reward for such valiant behaviour.” She winked at Max and went to join the others that stood on the lawn.
Felicity had just hit the shuttlecock in such a fashion that Everett had no chance but to let it fall and surrender his racquet to his brother. Graeme looked less than pleased to be entering the game once again. The manner in which they had been playing required whoever had dropped the shuttlecock to bow out of the game and be replaced by the third person standing at the side. The same process had been followed in the second group, which had to this point been made up of Shelton, Max, and Grace.
“Beatrice,” Grace’s face lit with pleasure as she welcomed her cousin. “Have you seen how many times Felicity has retained her racquet?”
Bea nodded. “I have, and my brother and Mr. Shelton have begged me to play in their stead. I understand they have been unsuccessful in causing you to surrender your racquet and hoped I might do better.”
Graeme guffawed. “Shelton and Max wish you to defend their honour?”
“Men are such delicate creatures,” Bea said, tipping her head and giving him a playful smile. “Their spirits are so easily crushed, and their moods so easily fouled, that one must do all one can to protect them.”
“We are not delicate creatures,” Graeme protested. “Do you hear her, Everett? Condemning all men just because Shelton and Max are not up to the challenge of winning. Shocking, is it not?”
Everett chuckled. “No, not very, considering it is Bea.”
“Whatever do you mean?” Bea asked with feigned innocence.
“You may be quiet and bookish, but you are also devilishly determined once you have set your mind to a task,” Everett replied, smiling broadly.
If he had not called her bookish, Bea might have enjoyed the compliment of being determined, but as it was, she could only partially delight in his praise. She was bookish. It was true. But, to have a gentleman call you such was not flattering — especially if it was a gentleman whom you rather liked and wished would like you.
“She is a fearsome opponent, Miss Grace,” Everett warned.
“Bea?” Grace’s eyes were wide. “I cannot imagine her being anything but sweet and obliging.”
“Oh, she is that,” Everett assured. “Bea is one of the sweetest and most obliging ladies you will ever meet unless she has a mallet or a racquet in her hand.”
“Or a set of cards,” Graeme added. He watched how Bea’s eyes lowered as they always did when people talk about her in any flattering fashion. It, much like the teasing smile she had turned on him just moments ago, was one of the many expressions that he found particularly charming about Bea. “And it was Bea that rounded the tree first this morning on our ride.”
“She beat Shelton?” Everett asked in surprise. He had not gone riding with his brother, Shelton, and Max because Felicity was fearful of horses. So he and she had remained behind at Stratsbury with Grace who was to act as a chaperone for their walk through the gardens and down the lane.
“Just, but beat him she did.”
“He was being gentlemanly,” Bea argued. “I am certain he could have won if he was only riding against other gentlemen.” This was met with a laugh from both Clayton brothers.
“Shelton is rarely a gentleman,” Graeme explained, but then, a disturbing thought crossed his mind. There was one time when Shelton would play the gentleman and allow a lady to win at anything. He glanced over to where Shelton was conversing with Max. Shelton had best not be attempting to win Bea’s affections.
“We have just met
,” Bea said. “He was likely trying to make a good first impression. The next ride might be different.”
“The next ride?” Graeme’s head snapped back around to the group gathered around him.
“Yes, the day after tomorrow, if the weather holds, we are to meet for a ride. Max thought two days of riding in a row might be too much for me.” Bea added the last part quietly.
Graeme scowled. Shelton had not mentioned such an arrangement to him. He would make certain he was also part of that ride. Shelton was not going to woo Bea without some interference.
“Must we discuss riding any longer?” Felicity asked. “Can we not play?”
“We have no one to take the place of whoever drops the shuttlecock,” said Grace.
“Oh, I had only planned on playing one game,” Bea explained. “The weather is warm, and my head is a trifle sore.”
Graeme eyed her carefully, looking for any signs that she was unwell. The fact that Bea had mentioned any matter, whether trifling or not, was, in his opinion, a reason to worry. “The winner of your game could play the winner of ours,” he offered. “That is if Bea thinks she could tolerate two games.”
Grace gasped indignantly. “She has not won yet.”
“Oh, but she will,” muttered Graeme. Then, he turned to Felicity. “What say you, Miss Love? If you win this match, which I am not saying you will, are you agreeable to playing Bea,” he smiled and, after a short pause, added, “or your sister.”
“And the winner of that game could play me,” Everett added.
“I will gladly play you,” Graeme said to Everett.
“You?” Felicity tittered. “You have not done very well at beating me yet today, and to play your brother, you shall not only have to beat me but either Beatrice or Grace.”
“Ah, but, to this point, the prize was not to play Bea,” he replied.
Bea rolled her eyes. “I am beginning to regret agreeing to play for Mr. Shelton and Max.”
“But you have agreed,” said Everett. “The winner of your match will play the winner of this match, and then that person shall play me.”