Page 14 of A Widow for the Earl (The Gentlemen’s Club #5)

CHAPTER TWELVE

“ Y ou look tired, Wilds.”

Vincent lifted his heavy head to look at his friend and brother-in-law, Edmund Connolly, the Duke of Davenport. “I have not been sleeping well. I have never slept well in a bed that is not my own.”

“Then why not return to Grayling?” Edmund suggested. “Anything you need to achieve can surely be achieved from there, with the aid of messengers.”

Vincent hesitated, uncertain of whether to tell the truth or not.

“I do not trust this estate in the hands of its current mistress. If I leave, I fear she may build a blockade or destroy every document pertaining to my inheritance or raise an army of servants and tenants to defend against my intrusion.”

He had informed his friend of the situation, grateful to be dealing with someone a little more reasonable than Duncan. He enjoyed his friendship with Duncan, but the man had never cared about what was proper or correct. Edmund, however, understood the importance of rules, duty, and expectations.

Edmund chuckled. “She is a lively creature. Isolde has not always championed her, but after everything she did to support Teresa, she adores her now.”

“Teresa would have managed better without having a friend like her,” Vincent protested. “She might have been married sooner, in truth, if Beatrice had not occupied so much of her time and had not helped her avoid gentlemen at gatherings.”

Edmund frowned. “But not to a man she loves, perhaps.”

“Yes, well, that is just a matter of luck,” Vincent replied uneasily, for he had not quite expected that response from his friend. “Love is not important in a marriage.”

Edmund smiled, raising his glass of brandy. “Says the only one not married.” He took a sip. “I shall have you know that love is exceptionally important. I would not be half the man I am now without the love of my darling Isolde.”

“How is she?” Vincent swirled his brandy, thinking of Grayling House and the bygone days when it had been filled with the laughter and cheer of his three sisters.

“She is well,” Edmund replied, sighing contentedly. “Resting, mostly, until the child comes. Joseph is excited to have a little brother or sister. Indeed, I think he is more excited than anyone.”

Vincent nodded. “I should visit before then.”

“Yes, you should, but I can see you are busy,” Edmund replied with a smile. “Isolde will not hold that against you. She knows you will visit whenever you are able. What of Prudence? I hear she was here recently.”

“The less said about that, the better,” Vincent mumbled.

It had been almost a week since the peculiar game in the old ballroom, almost a week since he had held Beatrice and surprised himself, and three days since her attempt to spook him.

They had not crossed paths since, which unsettled him somewhat, for it was always better to know the enemy’s movements.

And I know all about the elaborate plans she is capable of plotting…

Her odd séance, or whatever it was supposed to be, had been simple in comparison to some of the stories he had heard about gentlemen on the receiving end of her creative punishments.

“She is young,” Edmund said gently. “She is spirited. It is her first Season, and she is exploring this new freedom. Do not be too hard on her. If you do, it may hinder rather than help.”

Vincent raised an eyebrow. “Is that you speaking or my sister?”

“A little of both,” Edmund replied, chuckling.

Finishing the dregs in his glass, turning his gaze out toward the neat gardens that adjoined the study, Vincent puffed out a weary breath.

“I do not mean to be the villain,” he said, almost to himself.

“My sisters, they have always thought I am too severe, or that I am being unfair. They do not understand the weight that I carry. They do not understand what it has taken to ensure their security. They do not realize that my purpose has always been them.”

He had never had a moment to consider what he might want. Inheriting young, forced to put aside his grief at the loss of his father, he had worked tirelessly to bring the Grayling name back to a place of merit and prosperity.

But his sisters did not see that. All they saw was a grumpy brother who made demands of them, corrected their manners and etiquette, and pushed them toward fortuitous matches, not understanding that it was so he could rest easily.

Once he knew they were all safe and taken care of, then he might have time to consider his own future.

“Isolde has some notion of what it means to be you,” Edmund said encouragingly. “She can empathize. Teresa, too, I imagine, now that she has seen what it takes for Cyrus to run his castle. Prudence will come around too, once she has found a suitable match.”

“In truth, I do not know if there is a man brave enough,” Vincent admitted, mustering a laugh. “That is my current punishment, it seems: to succeed in finding courageous matches for two wild women, neither of whom seem inclined to marry.”

Edmund furrowed his brow. “ Two women? You cannot seriously be thinking of finding a match for Beatrice? She may be young still, but her value at the marriage market must be nil at present. No one would dare.”

“Physicians were sent for,” Vincent protested, for he could not bear to hear another person tell him it was impossible.

“They all attested to the fact that her husbands died naturally, with no interference. If they had found any evidence of foul play, she would be in prison, for goodness’ sake!

It is not as if she is actually killing them on their wedding night.

So, why should she not remarry? Why is it so outlandish a suggestion? ”

Edmund sighed. “Because, regardless of what the noted physicians have said, there must be a reason they have all died. Three deaths are no longer coincidence.” He paused.

“I am not saying she did it; I am not saying that at all. But I am, perhaps, saying that there are forces at work. Unnatural forces.”

Vincent scoffed. “If you say you believe in curses, I shall disown you as a friend.”

“I believe in good and evil,” Edmund replied firmly. “If one can believe in the power of the Lord, as I do and as I know you do, then why should you scoff at the idea of… less heavenly powers?”

“Because it is ludicrous,” Vincent replied vehemently, his mind drifting to Beatrice with her long, dark hair, fire in her honey eyes, looking every bit the enchantress in her pale nightgown.

The kind of sorceress that could easily lure a man to his death, or to his eternal doom, with just one intense look.

Or a single bite of her naturally reddened lips.

Is it so ludicrous? Is there witchcraft in her veins? Is she descended from… such women?

Edmund shrugged. “Maybe it is, but it still defies explanation. No one can be so unlucky without reason.” He tilted his head to one side.

“Perhaps, she is the bearer of her family’s celestial punishment.

It is well known that her mother and father are not exactly moral people. The sins of the parents, etcetera.”

“Well, whether it defies explanation or not, or she is cursed, or… whatever,” Vincent said, losing his grip on his temper, “I have found someone who is willing to consider marrying her.”

“Who?” Edmund asked, leaning in as his mood shifted to one of curiosity.

“Yes, who?” a different voice asked, the two men whirling around in surprise.

Standing in the doorway with a face like thunder, her hand resting on her hip, Beatrice glared at Vincent. How long she had been there and how much she had heard, he did not know. Indeed, he had thought she was out walking the grounds, for that was what Mr. Bolam had told him.

Is he still loyal to her, after all? Vincent cursed that he had not checked for himself, wondering if there was anyone in this household who was loyal to him instead. Being the heir and all.

“Let me guess,” Beatrice said sourly. “Is it the gentleman who has just charged down the driveway, almost breaking the back of a lovely stallion that he clearly does not know how to ride?”

Vincent had hoped to ease Beatrice into the meeting with her new suitor, but it seemed that horse had bolted. But maybe all was not lost, for she was still standing there, making no attempt to run.

“This is fortunate timing,” he said, rising from his chair. “Come, Miss Johnson, let us welcome our guest. Lord Mancefield has arrived.”

Beatrice would have let the full brunt of her temper fly if it had not been for Edmund’s presence.

She liked the man well enough, but she adored Isolde.

The last thing she wanted was for Edmund to return to his wife, telling unkind stories about her, when she had only secured Isolde’s true friendship in the past couple of years.

As such, she was doing her best to be polite, putting on a performance that she hoped would give Edmund cause to doubt his friend’s misgivings.

Even your own friends will think you are quite mad for disliking me so much, when they see how courteous and ladylike I can be.

“I was just admiring your stallion from the window,” she said, daintily sipping the tea that had been brought in by the suspicious staff. “What a magnificent creature he is.”

Lord Mancefield gave a throaty chuckle, preferring to sip from a glass of brandy instead of tea. “I bet you enjoy a stallion, Miss Johnson, do you not?”

“Lady Wycliffe,” Beatrice corrected, feigning shyness. “I have not been ‘Miss Johnson’ for quite some time. And, yes, I appreciate the wild majesty of a stallion, though I am more partial to a gelding. I find them to be less dangerous.”

Lord Mancefield snorted, clearly thinking her oblivious to the lewdness he was attempting to slip into conversation.

“Less fun, rather. One needs a little danger in one’s life.

It took me weeks to break that stallion out there, yet I find him far less entertaining than when he was bucking about, refusing to be controlled. ”