Page 33 of A Widow for the Earl (The Gentlemen’s Club #5)
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
T he following day, back in the familiar surroundings of Wycliffe Manor, Beatrice sought to turn the tables on Vincent. She could not put distance between them by leaving the manor entirely, in case he prohibited her from returning, but she could avoid him the same way he had avoided her.
“A picnic,” Beatrice announced, bursting into the Sun Room where she knew Prudence would be spending the morning.
Prudence jumped, hurrying to close the thick letter on her lap. “Pardon?”
Beatrice lifted up the basket hanging from the crook of her elbow. “You and I are going to partake in a picnic, while the weather is still good and we are not cowering from the cold.” She nodded to the letter. “Something interesting?”
“The latest chapters of Miss Savage and Captain Frostheart. Tess let me borrow them,” Prudence replied, relaxing.
“I thought you were my brother. He would give up on me entirely if he knew I was reading them. Mama and Vincent never liked Tess reading them, either, but then she did end up with a duke and a castle, so all was forgiven. Until I can do the same, I must keep my preferred literature a secret.”
Beatrice smiled. “Speaking of, have you heard from your mother at all?”
“Bewildered letters, begging me to come home,” Prudence replied with a roll of her eyes. “She is lonely at Grayling by herself and there is nothing worse than a Julianna Wilds who has nothing to do. Honestly, I am shocked she has not defied Vincent’s wishes and come to visit anyway.”
Beatrice nodded, putting the heavy basket onto her other arm. “Does she still not know why you are here?”
“Heavens, no, and no one must ever tell her,” Prudence replied, grimacing. “She would take leave of what little senses she has left.”
Staring off toward the hazy, late-morning sunlight, where the rich greens of the lawns dazzled with dew that had not yet burnt away, a curious thought came to Beatrice’s mind.
“I adore you being here, Pru, but why is it that you have not returned to Grayling? As soon as the scandal passed unnoticed, I was certain you would return home to resume your busy calendar of society events. Indeed, it will not be long before this Season ends, and everyone retreats until the London Season begins.”
Prudence pulled a disgruntled face. “Why do you think?” She huffed out a breath as she stuffed the controversial pages down the back of the armchair.
“My brother has not yet permitted me to return. He does not think I can be trusted. Indeed, his last remark on the subject was that I would not be allowed to return to society until next year.”
“When did he say that?” Beatrice asked, feeling sorry for the girl.
“This morning. I was certain he would be more benevolent, but I was mistaken,” Prudence replied, getting to her feet. “If anything, he is being more stubborn.”
“Well, let us improve both of our moods with this picnic,” Beatrice insisted, gesturing toward the terrace doors with her free hand.
“I know of the perfect place, and I cannot bear to be inside this house while the weather is so nice. I shall never understand society ladies’ innate fear of the sun. ”
Prudence cast her a look, as if she knew that was not the only reason that Beatrice might be inclined to stay away from the manor. But she said nothing about it, opening up the terrace doors to let them both out onto those jeweled lawns.
They walked across the grass in companionable conversation, discussing the balls that Prudence had missed, who had been named and disgraced in the morning’s scandal sheets, and the rather telling fact that Peter Swann had not deigned to write to her since the apple incident.
“I suppose my brother was half-right,” she said. “Ladies and gentlemen might have the capacity to be friends, but Peter and I certainly do not. I doubt I shall ever speak to him again after this.”
Beatrice chuckled. “He did not deserve you anyway, Pru. You need someone… remarkable.”
“Like Freddie?” Prudence sighed softly. “Now, he is a remarkable gentleman. I doubt I have ever encountered a gentleman so amusing and so thoughtful. You must tell me everything about him.”
A frown furrowed Beatrice’s brow as they wandered on across the grass, joining the driveway so their shoes would not get soaked through.
She adored Frederick, but the thought of him and Prudence in a courtship made her suddenly uneasy, as it had done when she had caught Prudence staring at him before.
“In truth, Pru, I do not think he would be deserving of you either,” she said diplomatically. “He is a second son, and unless something tragic were to happen to his brother, your brother would never agree to it. Indeed, he does not seem to like Freddie very much at all.”
“Yes, but that is not because of me,” Prudence insisted, deepening Beatrice’s frown.
“Whatever do you mean?”
Did she hear my argument with her brother? Beatrice thought back on that awful moment in the library, hearing Vincent’s unkind words ringing afresh in her ears.
Prudence smiled. “Oh, nothing.” She waved a dismissive hand, changing the subject.
“The trouble is, I do not think I can lure a duke into courting me, much less marrying me. My sisters have set too high of a precedent, and it is really rather unfair. I am almost expected to become a duchess, but how am I to even attempt to do that when my brother will not permit me to enter society again?”
Beatrice had no answer for the younger woman, her mind still stuck inside the Darnley Castle library.
She liked to think she could take an insult well, her skin thickened by years of society judgment and her parents’ attitude toward her, but Vincent had pierced that skin last night.
The embarrassment and injury of it still ached as if it had happened a moment ago.
“Bea?” Prudence prompted.
“I shall have to think on it for a while,” Beatrice replied, struggling to shake off her hurt.
She walked the rest of the way down the drive in a pensive silence, while Prudence hummed a little ditty and pointed out a pair of blackbirds that were fighting over a worm. To Beatrice, it rather seemed like an omen, though she could not decipher its meaning.
A short while later, the two women came to the gates of the gloomy gray chapel. Prudence continued to wander past it, turning in confusion as Beatrice opened up the gate and walked inside.
“We are having our picnic in a graveyard?” the younger woman asked, with a face so alarmed that Beatrice almost laughed.
“We are having our picnic in one of the most beautiful spots on the estate,” Beatrice corrected, leading the way to the mossy bench that sat beneath the grand yew tree.
Once there, she took out a blanket and draped it across the bench, sitting down long before Prudence had even taken her first step into the churchyard.
The younger woman stared around in abject horror, wrinkling her nose at the headstones she passed by, shuddering visibly as she hurried the rest of the way to the bench.
“Do we have to have our picnic here?” Prudence asked, perching beside Beatrice. “I always feel as if someone is watching me when I am near to places like this. And would it not be rather rude to eat among those who no longer can?”
Beatrice chuckled. “It is common practice to give an offering to the spirits of a graveyard, so they can partake in the picnic. A drop of lemonade, a crumb of sandwich, the pit of a plum. They will be most appreciative.”
“It cannot be such common practice if I have never heard of such a thing,” Prudence countered, clasping her hands as if in prayer.
“Ah, well, that is because you do not read the books that I do,” Beatrice explained with a wry smile. “And those would really incense your brother, if he were to discover I had them.”
Prudence gulped. “What sort of books?”
“Old ones. Nothing sinister, just… educational.” Beatrice gestured toward the red-berried rowan trees.
“These rowans, for example, are trees of protection.
They ward off evil and enchantments, which is why they are so often planted near graveyards—that used to be the case, at least. Their berries have a five-pointed star on them: a symbol often used in what I suppose you would call ‘occult’ practices.
But there is no harm in them; they are for keeping people safe.
“And this yew tree, sheltering us from the sun, has been revered for thousands of years. Not this exact one, but yew trees in general.” She laughed awkwardly.
“They are thought to carry the history of generations in their boughs and trunks, trees of knowledge and wisdom. They, too, offer protection against evil forces, and there are some tales that suggest you can ask a yew for guidance, and it will answer, or that it can foresee omens. I have yet to try it, but when you hear the wind in the trees sometimes, you cannot help but think that it is the trees themselves, trying to tell you something.”
She turned to find Prudence staring at her as if she had lost her mind completely. All of the color had drained from the younger woman’s face, shivering though it was not at all cold.
“Should I be worried that you are a witch of some kind?” Prudence asked, gulping loudly. “I am not certain that this is a… normal interest, Bea.”
Undeterred, Beatrice relaxed against the back of the bench and looked up into the tangled branches of the beautiful yew.
“I am not a normal woman. When you feel as cursed as I do, one cannot help but attempt to understand why… and to try and find a way to undo it.” She closed her eyes, listening to the whispers of the wind.
“But I am not a witch; I just read, I do not practice.”
“You think curses are real?” Prudence sounded more disturbed by the second.
Beatrice shrugged. “I think mine is. How else would you explain three dead husbands that I certainly did not kill? All dying on their wedding night to me. All relatively young still, all relatively healthy still, all gone before dawn.”