Page 35 of A Widow for the Earl (The Gentlemen’s Club #5)

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

V incent raised his head from his luncheon of white fish and potatoes in a parsley sauce, as a blur hurried past the dining room door.

Beatrice? He had not thought he would see hide nor hair of her today, after his awful behavior last night. As such, the very last thing he expected was for her to suddenly walk backward, appearing in the doorframe.

“Join me,” he blurted out, setting down his knife and fork, feeling entirely awkward.

She hesitated. “I have just eaten, but… I will sit awhile.”

“You will?” He blinked, wondering if he was misremembering how they had parted ways last night.

The Beatrice who had smacked him across the cheek would not agree to just sit at the dining table with him, would she? Unless, of course, she was waiting for some manner of apology. An apology that he undoubtedly owed.

She wandered in and took the seat opposite him, scraping back the chair in what he suspected was a deliberate attempt to assault his ears. Stony-faced, she sat down and poured herself a glass of water.

He could not help but watch the movement of her slender throat as she drank, her fingers on the stem of her glass so elegant.

Considering her reputation, even before the deaths, it was easy to forget that, actually, she had a great deal of poise.

A natural grace that many would not possess after a thousand lessons.

But as she set her glass down, spinning it slowly upon the linen tablecloth, he began to wonder why she had joined him at all. She just stared at him in silence, her eyes breathtaking despite her cool gaze. Her cheeks were pink, as if she had taken a brisk walk, her skin radiant.

In the heat of their quarrels, it was easy to forget, too, how uncommonly beautiful she was.

Heaving out a sigh, Beatrice broke the quiet first. “Prudence will not be joining us. We picnicked, and I fear the boiled eggs were not quite fresh.” She pointed upward. “She has retired for the afternoon.”

“Did you not partake in the eggs?” he asked, cringing inwardly. What sort of a question was that, when there were so many other things to be said between them?

“I did, but each egg is different. Mine was fine.” She took another sip of water. “Speaking of Prudence, I have been meaning to ask when you intend to let her return to society? It will not be long before autumn, and the hiatus until the London Season may be a detriment to her success.”

Vincent sat back in his chair, narrowing his eyes. “You are encouraging of her getting married?”

“Certainly, as that is what she wants.” She tapped her fingertips against the side of her glass. “I am always encouraging of ladies pursuing their heart’s desire. If that is a gentleman and marriage for Prudence, then I champion it.”

The reasonable tone of her voice unnerved Vincent somewhat, as did her calm demeanor. He had assumed, when they inevitably crossed paths again, that he could expect unbridled rage and possibly another slap to the face. He had not expected this composed, judicious woman.

The very sort of woman I always thought I would wed.

“I have already told her that she must wait until the spring,” he replied, cutting into the last of his fish. “She needs further education in the realm of discipline and etiquette. I mean to employ a tutor, so there are no more mistakes when she does return to society.”

Beatrice cleared her throat. “With respect, Vincent, it is my firm belief that she has already learned her lesson. Yes, she learned it the hard way, but sometimes that is necessary to avoid further upset. Fear can be a potent motivator.” She sipped her water again, as if secretly nervous.

“I think the risk of delaying her return, and the effects of that, are far greater than the risk of her making a mistake twice.”

For the first time, it actually sounded like she meant it when she said ‘with respect’. Yet, he did not like it; rather, he did not trust it. This had to be a deception of some kind, he just could not see the edges of the trap he might be walking into.

“Yes, well, my decision has been made,” he said. “The wait will not cause much harm, I do not think. She can use that time for reflection, if nothing else.”

Beatrice straightened her posture, her beautiful eyes a touch colder. “As someone who has been in her situation, withheld from society for so long, the harm is greater than you would think. The isolation, for one thing, is not to be recommended.”

“And yet, you found husbands,” he pointed out, not unkindly. “She will survive until spring. Indeed, I am not forbidding her from seeing her friends, I am just erring on the side of caution by not allowing her to attend society events.”

She nodded stiffly. “And I am telling you that it will raise more questions than it answers. Her absence will seem suspicious, particularly an absence of so many months… if you understand my meaning?” She reached to pour more water.

“So, if I may, I would urge you to set aside your need to be overly strict with her. Otherwise, you might end up making things worse.”

He stared at her in astonishment, uncertain of which part of her speech bothered him more.

There was sense in what she was saying, but the suggestion that he was too strict with his sister stuck in his throat like a fishbone.

Of course, a wild woman who cared nothing for rules would not understand why he had to be strict.

“I know, I know,” she said pre-emptively, “I am not the best example of being raised without firm guidance, but there must be a… balance. I assure you, she is being harder on herself than you could ever be. Let that self-punishment be enough. See if she cannot surprise you.”

Vincent set down his cutlery again, his appetite gone.

“Surprise me by choosing another unsuitable sixth son of a baron? Surprise me by deciding that she no longer wants to do as she is told? Surprise me by forgetting the lesson she has learned? She is… capricious, Beatrice. I will not be swayed until she has proven herself trustworthy.”

“She is young !” Beatrice urged, a hint of frustration slipping into her voice.

“But she is determined to find a duke. She is determined to make it a trio, because that is what she thinks is expected of her, and she does not want to disappoint you. Do not throw that earnest intention back in her face, Vincent.”

He shook his head, his anger rising. “You do not know her as I do, Beatrice. So, please, stay out of it.”

“I cannot,” she replied simply. “I cannot stand by and do nothing when I know you are making a grave mistake.”

He lost his grip on his temper, his irritation doubled by the fact that, this time, she had not been trying to rile him up. Her confident statement of his shortcomings hit him harder in his vulnerabilities than any sly jest at his expense.

“I must have the final say in my sister’s future, Beatrice,” he rasped. “I have done everything for them. I have given my whole life to ensure that they are safe and they are happy, and I cannot fall at the last hurdle. I cannot leave it in her hands.”

Beatrice expelled a sigh. “But she is not happy, Vincent. She is not safe. Society will gossip because they cannot help themselves.”

“Do not suppose to tell me how best to arrange things for my family,” he retorted, his hand grasping his napkin.

“Since I was practically a boy, I have been fixing things, setting out a plan to ensure the longevity of the Wilds’.

It has never been easy, it has often demanded sacrifices and difficult decisions, but that is what has seen us flourish.

I will not stop now, because Prudence is chagrined. ”

“Fixing what sort of things?” Beatrice asked mildly, but he was already in the current of his anger, swept along.

He got up from his seat, pacing. “When my father died, we were on the verge of bankruptcy.

Our coffers were all but empty. Can you imagine learning that when you have just lost the man you respected most in the world?

Can you imagine being so young, having no idea what to do with the mess that had just been poured on you?

“No, I do not expect you can,” he grumbled, coming around to her side of the table.

“But I had to work tirelessly, day and night, to restore our frittered fortune. I had to conduct business that was completely foreign to me. I had to learn so quickly it made my head hurt. I had to make new associates, beg and borrow for investments, plead for more time to pay back debts, while having to act as a substitute father to my sisters, and a staunch pillar for my mother to lean on. Keeping that blasted secret so they would not worry that their home was about to be taken from them, too.”

Beatrice gazed at him, wide-eyed. He had not realized he had wandered so close to her, but there was only a chair’s length between them. It was as if his fevered mind had made him think that being nearer to her would make her understand better.

And he wanted her to understand, more than anyone.

I am not strict and stern and grumpy because I want to be. It is how I was shaped.

“How old were you?” she asked quietly.

He swallowed, his temper cooling. “Fifteen. I was at Eton when I received word that my father had been injured. I told my friends I would be back soon, but… I never had the option to return.”

“You must have been so lost,” she said, a gleam of moisture in her eyes. “You are right; I cannot imagine that sort of hardship. I was tossed into society at fifteen by parents who resented my existence, and thought that was bad enough, but that is nothing in comparison.”

Resented your existence? His mind faltered, thinking back to another heated conversation.

“To add insult to injury, my father has forbidden me from returning to the one place where I felt safe.” He had assumed her father did not want her back at his residence because of the shame and infamy surrounding her after three marriages.

He had not realized that it ran deeper than that, stemming from something as horrible as parents who hated their only child. Perhaps, always.

“What was your father like?” she asked, before he could muster the words to offer his returned sympathies.

Vincent took another step closer, resting his hand on the back of the empty chair.

“He was… kind. He adored the girls. Whenever he went to London, he would purchase trinkets for them, just to make them smile.” His voice caught in his throat.

“He was different with me. Not sterner, but… he treated me more as his equal than his child. We would always hunt and fish and walk together, and he would speak to me as if I were a gentleman instead of a boy.”

“Those sound like difficult shoes to fill.” Beatrice smiled up at him sadly.

“You must have been so angry to discover that all was not as well as it appeared. Angrier still that he was gone, so he was not there to guide you through it. Indeed, it must have been hard to love him, grieve him, miss him, and be so furious with him, all at once.”

A small gasp whispered from the back of his throat, for she had just explained it all in a way he had spent thirteen years trying—and failing—to do.

“I was so bitter,” he wheezed, his chest tightening. “And every challenge, every struggle, every obstacle, just made me even more embittered. I had to become cold, or I would have floundered. Saving us from destitution demanded that I be strict, with myself as well as my sisters.”

She reached out for him, his breath lodging in his throat as her fingertips brushed his hand. A soft caress of sympathy, his own hand longing to take hold of hers. To kiss it. To thank her for listening to a story he had never told anyone, to feelings he had kept hidden for years.

What am I doing? I should not be saying any of this to her.

“I am sorry,” she said gently. “For all you have suffered, I am sorry.”

He gave into his longing, taking her hand into his, sliding his fingers between hers. She smiled up at him, offering one of the true, radiant smiles that he had coveted. The sight of it made him bend toward her, while she sat taller in her chair, as if she could read his mind.

I cannot help it. I am bewitched, and I do not care.

A moment away from kissing her, her full lips parting slightly, his strict mind overwhelmed his wilder heart.

Like a schoolmaster with a cane, he snapped out of his determination to kiss her with a jolt.

Unable to think of anything else that would explain why he had been bending toward her, he blew lightly against her rosy cheek.

“An eyelash,” he murmured.

“Oh…” she whispered, nodding.

Slowly, he withdrew his hand from hers. “I trust we understand one another better?”

“You have my word that I will not involve myself,” she replied, her voice strange. “But, in return, at least heed my advice and be a bit more lenient with Prudence. It is the last thing I shall say on the matter.”

He found himself nodding in reply, now understanding the value of her advice. “I will try.”

“That is all I can ask,” she said, rising. “Now, I think I will leave you to finish your luncheon.”

She flashed him a sadder smile before departing the room, leaving him with no appetite for cold fish but for something he could never have. If he tried, his mind would only keep stopping him, or her curse would kill him. Either way, it could not end well.