Page 31 of A Widow for the Earl (The Gentlemen’s Club #5)

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

B eatrice’s theory was somewhat confirmed as the evening wore on.

Vincent had led her into the Lesser Hall—a charming room with vaulted ceilings, that still appeared to be decorated from the ball that Beatrice had arranged—but he had not invited any sort of meaningful conversation.

Rather, he had stood off to one side with a glass of port, close to Beatrice without actually being beside her.

And when Beatrice moved, so did he. As if he were guarding her, almost.

Still, that had not stopped her from having a lovely time with her friends.

She had won three rounds of cards already against Duncan, Valeria, Lionel, and Rebecca; she had lost at two word games with Teresa; she had regaled the group with just one song on the pianoforte, before Isolde kindly took over; and she had soaked up all of the stories that her friends and acquaintances had to tell, marveling at everyone’s happiness.

“At last, your hound has left us,” a mischievous voice drew her attention away from the latest pairing at the pianoforte: Rebecca singing beautifully, Amelia playing wonderfully.

Beatrice gasped, whirling around. “Freddie, you scared me!”

“I did not mean to, but I had no choice but to be stealthy,” Frederick replied, grinning. “One misstep and your chaperone would come sprinting back from wherever he has gone.”

Beatrice had not realized that Vincent had left the room, her eyes searching for him among the small group. The door to the hall was partially open, suggesting that Vincent had finally given up on trying to enjoy the evening.

She smacked Frederick playfully on the arm. “He is not my chaperone. In truth, I am not sure why he is staying so close to me this evening. Usually, he cannot get away fast enough.”

“Oh, that is simple,” Frederick replied, leaning in. “He understands that if two people of exceptional charm and wit and good looks are allowed to stand side by side, the world as we know it will implode. As such, he has been forced to come between us, to protect us all from catastrophe.”

She chuckled. “I would not say your charm and wit are exceptional. Passable, at best.”

“Ah, but you do think me exceptionally handsome?” He winked, his ability to take a teasing well so very refreshing after weeks with Vincent.

Indeed, she had not realized how much she missed the casual delight of friendly banter.

She knew she could say just about anything to Frederick and he would take no offense, and he could say almost anything to her without her being insulted.

It was all in good fun between them, and she dearly wished she could have that with Vincent.

But it is like I said to Valery—what if he simply does not know how to have fun?

She smiled at Frederick. “It rather depends on the light.”

“Well, dear Trixie, you are annoyingly beautiful in every kind of light,” Frederick said, as he took hold of her hand and placed a kiss upon her glove. “It is incredibly discourteous, making us all feel inferior.”

“Oh, hush,” she scolded with a laugh. “That is not at all true. If this were an ordinary ball, there would be gasps, but it would have nothing to do with my appearance.”

He waved a dismissive hand. “Society does not deserve you anyway, Trixie. You have always been too good for them.”

“I rather think that society is just not right for me,” she countered. “It never was, really. I made the best of it, but since I have been at Wycliffe, I have found that I do not miss it at all. I miss my friends, of course, but I can survive rather well without the rest.”

He smiled. “You do not miss the dancing?”

“Sometimes,” she admitted, smiling back at him.

“But I have fashioned a rather splendid partner from a broom and an old tailcoat, and he does not ask me inane questions or make demands of me. True, I might seem quite mad, but he is an excellent dancing partner. He never treads upon my toes, either.”

Frederick chuckled, elbowing her lightly in the ribs. “Well, if you should ever tire of Lord Broom of Scrubton, do summon me. I would be more than happy to be his substitute for a dance.”

“Well, about that,” she said, her tone hardening a little. “I would invite you to Wycliffe if you would ever respond to your letters! I do believe you are getting worse as the years pass.”

He cringed. “Forgive me, Trixie. I have not been at my family estate to receive any letters. I have been making a nuisance of myself in the homes of my schoolfriends, squeezing the last drop of merriment out of the summer. Thanks to my brother and his desire to hunt in the Highlands, I did not have the opportunity to visit them all until now.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Very well, you are forgiven, but when autumn comes, I shall expect prompt and continual correspondence from you.”

“I swear it,” he replied, his hand to his heart.

Just then, a shadow fell across the pair, the temperature in the room seeming to drop.

Vincent had returned.

“Alas, I believe the port is calling to me,” Frederick said, flashing a cold smile at Vincent as he waved his empty glass. “We should play at cards later, Trixie. See if I cannot beat you at last.”

Beatrice nodded, annoyed that Vincent could not at least pretend to be civil with her friend. “Certainly, Freddie, though I would not raise your hopes too high. It is habit, at this point, for you to receive a trouncing.”

“Indeed it is.” Frederick bowed his head to Beatrice, and made himself scarce, heading over to the liquor table to refill his glass.

At her side, Vincent opened his mouth to speak, but she raised her hand before a single word could leave his lips.

“If you will excuse me, Lord Grayling, I must powder my nose.” She breezed past him and walked out into the hallway, looking left and right with some anxiety.

The castle was enormous, every identical corridor disorienting without Teresa or Cyrus to act as a guide, but she knew she needed to get away from the festivities for a moment.

Deciding that the right-hand hallway looked more welcoming, she strode onward, uncertain of where it might lead.

And not really caring, either, so long as it did not take her back to the Lesser Hall before she was ready to return.

She fumed silently as she made her way down the corridor, wondering why Vincent had bothered to come at all if he was not going to be social.

She was not like him; she did not want to stick to the periphery, uninvolved and aloof.

She wanted to spend time with her friends: all of her friends, even the ones that Vincent did not approve of.

And what right does he have to judge that anyway? He does not know me. He does not know my history with Freddie.

Even if she were to tell Vincent, she doubted it would alter his opinion. He had his staunch beliefs that men and women could not be friends, after all.

Spotting a half-open door, where warm, amber light spilled out, Beatrice could not resist her curiosity.

She poked her head inside, her eyes widening at the glorious sight of a magnificent library: three tiers filled to the brim with bookcases, with staircases leading up to each mezzanine floor.

Through the ornate balustrades, Beatrice noted cozy alcoves populated by armchairs or desks.

Ah, so this is why you really married him, Tessie. She chuckled, trying to imagine Teresa’s face the first time she saw this library. The woman must have been beside herself with glee.

Stepping further into the vast room, struggling to comprehend the absolute majesty of it, she had no doubt that she had stumbled upon the perfect sanctuary. A place to catch her breath and gather her thoughts before she found her way back to the others.

“You should not be exploring this castle alone,” an unwelcome voice interrupted. “It is difficult enough to remember one’s way in the daylight; you can get lost without realizing it.”

Beatrice squeezed her eyes shut, the last fragment of her patience shattering. “And you should not be creeping up on a lady who is alone. You should not be following a lady who is alone. Indeed, if I have chosen to wander off by myself, do you not think there might be a reason?”

Vincent took a few steps forward, clearing his throat. “I am only here to ensure you do not get lost.”

“But I have not asked you to,” she replied tersely, opening her eyes. “In truth, I have not the faintest idea of why you have been… suffocating me all evening. I do not need a shadow, Vincent.”

Uncertainty creased the corners of his eyes. “I guided you into the drawing room. Therefore, it is my duty to stay close to you.”

“You are supposed to speak, Vincent. You are supposed to converse and engage in the occasion. You are not supposed to stay at the side of the room in silence, like a grumpy statue.” She exhaled a shaky breath, willing herself to find just one last morsel of patience.

Remember, he does not know how to have fun.

“I know you do not like him, though I cannot understand why, but you would do well to be more like Freddie,” she added. “He is humorous, he is social, he is eager to converse, and he knows the benefits of having some fun.”

Vincent’s expression darkened. “I have no desire to be anything like that gentleman. He is uncouth and far too familiar with you.”

“Because he is my friend!” she urged, clenching her hands into fists. “And you were the rude one just now, looming over us in your intimidating manner. We were just talking, for goodness’ sake, as we have done for years. He is like the brother I have never had, Vincent.”

Vincent moved closer. “But are you like a sister to him? Is that how he perceives you, or is there more to it, from his perspective?”

“I would wager a great deal that our perspectives are identical,” she replied firmly.

“He has known me for six years. He has known me since I was a terrified girl of fifteen, abandoned at her first ball while her parents imbibed with their friends. He was the first person to show me kindness, the first person to acknowledge my existence, and I would not be who I am if it were not for him.”

A flicker of surprise passed across Vincent’s face, halting his approach. “I did not know that.”

His tone was softer than before, laced with something like regret.

“Because you did not ask,” she replied in frustration.

“You thought his behavior improper from the moment you met him, so you did not think to learn why Freddie and I are so familiar with one another. We are like brother and sister. Perhaps, not like you are with your sisters, but we are like… Lionel and Rebecca.”

The faint hint of regret vanished, replaced with one of his stony expressions, his shoulders pulled back indignantly.

“Well, maybe your ‘friendship’ ought to be more like that of me and my sisters: dignified and appropriate. Regardless of your history together, your conduct remains questionable. Are you not embarrassed to be seen flirting and giggling with a man you are not even courting?”

“Among friends? Why should I feel embarrassed?” she countered, her temper flaring. “It is no different than if I were laughing and jesting with Tessie or Pru or Valery.”

She ignored his remark about flirting, refusing to dignify it with an acknowledgement. She would have known if she was flirting, and though she had pretended to flirt in the past to try and rile Vincent, that had not been her intent tonight.

“It is different,” Vincent retorted, anger gleaming in his eyes.

“That is the problem: it is different, but you are too oblivious to see it. You cannot laugh and jest with a gentleman, least of all one like him. It will be viewed as a flirtation and that will do nothing to aid your shattered reputation.”

“Good grief, it is as if you only have one sentence in your head and you cannot help repeating it!” She looked up at the ceiling for divine assistance.

“All you care about is reputation, reputation, reputation. And I am telling you I do not care about that anymore, though I do wonder why you care so much about mine. Indeed, why do you care so much about my interactions with Freddie at all? What is it, really, that annoys you so much about us?”

He paused a note too long before replying gruffly, “Because I cannot bear to witness impropriety. That is all. There is nothing more to it.”

“Really?” She sniffed. “Well, I think that is not quite the truth. If I was ‘giggling’ and jesting with a Lord you had chosen for me to consider, you would not be behaving like this.”

“I certainly would,” Vincent protested.

“No, you would not, because your sense of duty would not allow it.” Beatrice paused, meeting his gaze fiercely. “I think you are jealous, Vincent. I think you?—”

She had been about to elaborate that she thought he was envious of the easy relationship that she and Freddie had, because he did not know how to be comfortable around women, but he exploded before she could. Misunderstanding her meaning entirely.

“Jealous?” he scoffed. “I am not jealous of Frederick. How could I be jealous when I could never have feelings for someone like you? You said it yourself; you are wholly unsuitable. You are not prim and proper. You are not ladylike. You are not at all the sort of woman an earl should have for a wife. Y?—”

Beatrice slapped him hard on the cheek, the sound ringing out through the silent library.

Tears beaded on her eyelashes as the shock registered upon his face, while something fragile broke within her.

The heart she had spent most of her life trying to patch up after endless disappointments and insults, now in pieces too small to put back together.

“You have said enough, thank you. Indeed, you could not be clearer,” she hissed, as she turned on her heel and hurried from the library, determined not to let him see a single tear fall.