Page 30 of A Widow for the Earl (The Gentlemen’s Club #5)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

“ I do not see why I must attend,” Vincent griped from the opposite side of the squabs, as the carriage rattled along unforgiving country roads.

It had been almost a week since the incident in the drawing room, and though Beatrice kept waiting for it, her scolding had never arrived.

Nor had the full breadth of the mockery that Vincent had begun at the breakfast table.

Indeed, Vincent had been mostly absent, keeping to his study, taking all of his meals there.

However, Prudence had managed to coax him out for one evening only, to attend a dinner party at Darnley Castle.

“Because Tessie invited you,” Prudence retorted, fully recovered from her fleeting fear of being a ruined woman. “And because you need to leave that manor now and again, or you shall start to resemble a ghoul.”

Beatrice stifled a laugh, for she had enjoyed the past week with Prudence.

They had behaved, spending most of their time coming up with a theatrical for the new theater room and failing miserably, their attempts at a script sending them into bouts of weeping laughter.

Alongside, Prudence had regaled Beatrice with all of the society gossip and events that she had missed in the four months she had been in mourning; rather, in hiding from society.

“Yes, well, I have a thousand other things that I should be doing,” he muttered, shifting uncomfortably on the squabs.

Prudence sniffed. “You are just in a bad temper because Duncan will be there, and the two of you have not yet made up.”

“There is no quarrel between us,” Vincent insisted, shaking his head.

Yet, Beatrice knew that was not quite true.

She had watched the two men strolling across the lawn together, seeing their animated conversation.

It had not seemed to end well, with Vincent striding off and Duncan departing without a word, though she had not dared to ask Vincent what had happened.

Not that he had been present for her to ask, if she had wanted to.

“It is not gentlemanly to lie to one’s sister,” Prudence chided.

Vincent tilted his head up, as if praying to the heavens to spare him.

But before he could say anything in retort, the carriage passed through the first portcullis of Darnley Castle’s curtain wall.

Before long, they were trundling along the gravel border of the bailey, coming to a halt in front of the majestic front doors.

Prudence did not wait for the footman, flying out of the carriage and up the steps to make herself at home in her sister’s castle. Perhaps, she did not realize how awkward it might be to leave Beatrice and Vincent alone. Perhaps, she did.

“Did you attend the ball I organized here?” Beatrice asked, needing to break the silence between them.

In the days since her embarrassing tomfoolery, she had remembered a good deal more about the events of that night.

Namely, him carrying her up from the drawing room to her bedchamber…

and, if she was not mistaken, the touch of his hand against her cheek.

She was not entirely certain if the latter was true, or if she had dreamed it, but her unruly heart beat a little quicker whenever she thought of it.

“I believe so,” he replied coolly. “A rather grandiose affair.”

“The venue dictates the grandiosity,” she said, gesturing outward. “One cannot have a small party at a castle.”

Vincent tilted his neck from side to side as if it ached. “No? Then, how is it that I have been dragged here for exactly that?”

“If you try, you might enjoy yourself,” she insisted, her tone a little crisper.

“If you arrive at a gathering in a pessimistic mood, then the gathering will be a grim thing. If you arrive in a neutral mood, you can always be surprised. Of course, optimism would be the preferable state, but one cannot expect miracles.”

He shot her a look she could not read and pushed himself up off the squabs. Stepping down, he turned and offered his hand, saying nothing about her theory of enjoyment.

Taking a breath, determined to enjoy her evening, Beatrice accepted his proffered hand… and felt her heart sink when he let it go again, a moment after. There was no lingering touch, no sign that he wanted to remain close to her.

Maybe, him caressing my cheek was a dream after all.

“Shall we?” she said with forced brightness, heading up the steps ahead of him.

“It hardly seems like I have a choice,” he replied gruffly, following her into the castle at a polite distance. As if they were right back where they had begun, their weeks of living together forgotten.

“Well, that was delicious!” Beatrice cheered, raising her glass of wine to the hosts of the dinner party. “I could not eat another bite, so if there is a third dessert course, please do not tempt me!”

A ripple of enthusiastic agreement made its way around the dining table, where so many fond and familiar faces were gathered: Duncan and Valeria, Lionel and Amelia, Edmund and Isolde, Prudence, Rebecca, and Cyrus and Teresa, of course.

Noah and Catherine were also in attendance: the former being the man that Isolde had almost married before Edmund swooped in, though that had not stopped the two couples becoming firm friends.

Then, to Beatrice’s utter joy, Frederick had been invited to join the party.

“For the sake of your stomachs, that was the last course,” Teresa said, glowing with happiness.

At her side, Cyrus gazed down at her, like there was no one else in the room.

Goodness, how lovely it must be, to know a love like that.

Beatrice hid her sigh against the rim of her glass as everyone drank to the generous hosts. Sipping tentatively, she found her gaze wandering toward Vincent, who sat across the table from her.

She almost spilled her wine as she locked eyes with him for a fleeting moment, before he turned his head away, as if he had not been looking at her at all. Maybe, it was just coincidence, but there had been a few instances like that throughout dinner.

During the fish course, she had eagerly been discussing the imminent birth of Isolde’s second child, when she had felt the oddest sensation: a prickle down the side of her neck.

The kind a person experienced when someone was staring at them.

But when she had glanced toward the opposite side of the table, Vincent had been staring intently down at his fish, excising a slice of lemon that seemed to have offended him.

The same sensation had struck her during the first meat course, the vegetable course, the second fish course, and the first dessert course. Yet, she had not been able to catch Vincent in the act in order to confirm that she was not going mad.

“We thought we would forego the usual separating of the ladies and gentlemen,” Teresa continued.

“As we are all friends and family here, let us all proceed through to the Lesser Hall. There will be refreshments aplenty for those who want them, and an array of sweetmeats and delices for those who still have room.”

At the far end of the table—too far from Beatrice for her liking—Frederick mustered a dramatic groan. “You are too generous, Your Graces. You shall kill us all with gout and I, for one, welcome the execution.”

“Shall we play some games?” Prudence chimed in eagerly, fluttering her eyelashes in Frederick’s direction.

Although, to Beatrice’s relief, he did not seem to notice. The girl had barely escaped one scandal; she did not need to throw herself headfirst into another.

Teresa nodded. “Yes, there should be games. But let us relax awhile before we think of what to play.” She paused. “Indeed, we might find ourselves so at ease that we have not the inclination to play any games after all.”

A slight frisson of awkwardness bristled through the gathered group, a few glances making their way toward Vincent. Even those who were not present for the somewhat catastrophic game of Blind Man’s Hunt had clearly heard about it.

He let the glances roll off his back, either oblivious to why people were looking at him or not caring. “Shall we, then?” was all he said, gesturing to the dining room doors.

The tension dissipated, the group rising in a babble of chatter and laughter, everyone in merry spirits as they left the dining room in a lively stream.

Beatrice, who had been dismayed to find that she was not seated beside Frederick, hung back in an attempt to walk out with him.

She had missed her friend. Indeed, she had assumed he had ventured off to Scotland or somewhere again, for he had not responded to any of her letters.

If nothing else, she meant to scold him for being a perpetually terrible correspondent.

So, it was rather a shock when Vincent appeared at her side, offering her his arm.

“Oh… I assumed you would be retreating to a dark corner around now,” she said, her mind faltering. “Are you going to join us all in the Lesser Hall?”

Vincent shrugged. “I am trying.”

“Pardon?”

“I am trying to enjoy myself,” he replied. “This is my sister’s occasion. It would be discourteous of me to wander off after dinner, instead of partaking in… games.”

He appeared to shudder at the word, bringing an unexpected smile to her lips.

“Well, I promise we shall not play Blind Man’s Hunt,” she said, to test his response.

He made a soft, growling sound in the back of his throat. “I suppose I deserved that. Now, are you going to take my arm or not?”

She did, though she could not fathom the sudden change. He had avoided her all week, he had avoided her gaze throughout dinner, and he had seemed relieved to discover he would not be sitting beside her. So, why did he want to be near to her now?

At that moment, she saw Frederick walk past… and wondered if that might have had something to do with it.