Page 8 of A Widow for the Earl (The Gentlemen’s Club #5)

CHAPTER SEVEN

H eavens, how I despise you.

Beatrice sipped her weak coffee, the buttery eggs cooling on her plate, for the smug man opposite had robbed her of her appetite.

Just as he had robbed her of her sleep by daring to commandeer a room in her house.

She had tossed and turned all night, for though he had been given chambers at the other end of the manor, she had felt the unwelcome presence, to the point where he might as well have been snoring right beside her instead.

“Is this why you came to the wedding?” she said abruptly, a notion coming to her with her next sip of coffee.

Vincent looked up from the plate of eggs that he was positively devouring. “Pardon?”

“You were not at either of my previous weddings,” she replied coldly. “Did you decide to attend my wedding to Sebastian so you could take a peek at what you might inherit? Goodness, I bet you were desperate for him to die like the rest of them.”

Vincent slowly set down his knife and fork, taking his time to dab the corners of his mouth with a napkin, before meeting her frosty gaze with one of his own. “What an abhorrent thing to say.”

“The truth is not always pretty,” she countered.

“The words that come out of your mouth are rarely pretty,” he said stiffly, sitting back in his chair.

“Miss Johnson, I did not know I was the heir to this estate until a fortnight ago. I knew I had some vague acquaintance to the late Viscount, but I did not know we were distant cousins—second or third, I cannot recall. The late Viscount’s lawyers had to search rather hard for an heir, and I happened to be the only male left with any relation. ”

Beatrice took a piece of toast and tore off a corner, chewing with all of the vehemence in her veins, as if she were chewing up the papers from those wretched lawyers instead.

“I was his wife. The house ought to be mine,” she said, swallowing.

“You were married for less than a day. You can hardly call yourself his wife.” Vincent’s short, sharp laugh curled her hands into fists, if only to stop herself from lunging across the table to slap him.

It was the same cruel sentiment she had heard twice before, from the families of Lord Albany and Lord Brinkley. The same unfeeling dismissal that had sent her back to her father’s house. She supposed she should have been used to it by now, but the snide remark still stung.

I have been dutiful, marrying who I was told to when I was told to, and still no one deems it to be enough.

“Do you think the Good Lord sees it that way?” she said tartly. “Does He think so little of vows made in His presence? I was Sebastian’s wife, as I am now his widow, and so this is my home, as it has been for the past four months.”

Vincent adjusted his cravat. “Prudence tells me you have been amusing yourself, having quite the lovely time while you were supposed to be in mourning. Those are hardly the actions of a bereft widow. If you had wanted the title, you should have behaved with more decorum.”

Prudence! Why would you tell him that? She cursed herself for writing to the youngest of the Wilds siblings, believing her words were private.

Teresa would not have said anything to Vincent, nor would Isolde, but she should have known that Prudence would not be able to keep quiet. Her exuberance did not permit it.

“People endure loss in different ways,” she replied evenly.

“I chose to make the manor a joyful place for the servants. I was not aware that was a crime, though if you would like to show me the petty rules of society, I am certain you have a copy on you at all times. Goodness, you probably have every volume, able to recite them at a moment’s notice. ”

He smiled thinly. “If there was such a compendium, I would insist on you studying every page. Indeed, I would mark every page where you had transgressed. Or, perhaps, it would be quicker for me if I marked every page where you had not transgressed.”

If she had hated him just a little bit less, she might have laughed at that. There was some wit to him, it seemed, and she did not usually mind a joke at her expense, but coming from him, she could not abide it.

Such a waste of a handsome face.

When he walked into a room, he cut quite the imposing figure: tall and athletic, with exceptional broad shoulders, perfect posture, and grace in his movements.

He had pleasant features: his jaw strong, his chin faintly dimpled, with a high sloping nose and defined cheekbones, framed by dark hair that had a tendency to flop over one beautiful blue eye.

At any ball, he would find himself surrounded by eligible ladies, yet Beatrice was not one of them; rather, she wished she could be as far from him as possible.

“Do you realize the uproar you have caused in society, or do you simply not care?” he asked, brushing that floppy hair out of his eye.

She clenched her jaw. “I care that three men are dead. I do not care what society has to say about me.”

“Yes, well, I care about what society has to say,” Vincent remarked. “And as I am the heir to this title and estate, it is my duty to care what you do to its reputation. As such, I want you gone, just as soon as everything is confirmed regarding my inheritance.”

She smiled sweetly at him. “Then, I hope you brought your strongest ropes, for you will have to drag me out of here. Mr. Bolam might be a turncoat, but I have the loyalty of the rest of the staff. They will not permit you to remove me, as if I am an ugly statue in the garden that has lost its appeal.”

“Do not make this difficult for yourself,” he insisted, beginning to twist the napkin in his hands. “You should find a husband, ingratiate yourself at his residence, and agree not to trouble me any further.”

Laughter erupted from her chest before she could stop it, the sound ricocheting across the breakfast room, startling the maid who had just come in to replenish the toast and beverages. Even Vincent blinked, staring at her as if she had grown an additional head… or horns, perhaps.

“Find a husband?” she wheezed, tears streaming down her face as more laughter bubbled out of her. “I never thought… you had a sense of humor, Wilds, but… now I see I was wrong. That must be the most… hilarious thing I have ever heard!”

He pulled one of his most disapproving faces.

“I am quite serious, Miss Johnson. It has been confirmed that you did not… um…” He cleared his throat, tugging at his collar.

“It has been confirmed that you were not… goodness… um… visited by the late Viscount on your wedding night. As such, you are perfectly eligible to marry again. You were no true wife, and you are no true widow.”

She knew he was just reading from his imaginary book of society rules, but she was still tempted to launch the rest of her coffee at him. If one more person said that her weddings did not count, she would lose her mind. Truly.

Still, it was a little pleasing to watch him squirm as he tried to explain the reason why she was not considered a true wife or widow in the eyes of society.

“Why, Wilds, I do believe you are blushing,” she taunted, flashing a smirk. “I never thought I would ever be the reason why you were tongue-tied. You do realize that ‘consummation’ is a perfectly acceptable word?”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “I was trying to be delicate, for your sake.”

“Oh, you need not do that on my account,” she said, grinning as she spooned some marmalade onto her toast. “You see, this marmalade and this toast have consummated their union, and they will be quite delicious together.”

She took a bite, chuckling as Vincent turned his gaze away, as if the simple act of eating her breakfast was somehow indecent.

“You will find a husband and you will leave,” he muttered. “Or you can return to your father’s house.”

He does not want me in his house either.

Her laugh turned as bitter as the marmalade.

“Impossible. Both.” She swallowed her mouthful.

“No man is going to be foolish enough to risk his life becoming my fourth husband. And I would rather live in the boathouse with the spiders than return to my father’s house.

So, if you want rid of me, you shall have to come up with something better. ”

“ I will have to?” he replied, snorting.

“Yes, you will have to. I am happy here. You are the one who wants me gone, though I cannot fathom why,” she said, regretting the toast as her stomach churned.

“You have the Grayling Estate. You have a manor and a large one, at that. What do you need a second manor for? You barely leave Grayling House as it is.”

A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Because it would be improper for you to remain here, when you are not a viscountess in your own right.”

“So, petition the Royal Court. Have them make me a viscountess in my own right,” she replied with a shrug. “I will stay here in my home, you can go back to yours, and we never have to see one another again, unless it is in passing. Indeed, surely it will be a comfort to you if you know where I am.”

He squinted, his brow furrowing, his voice oddly thick as he asked, “Why would that be of any comfort to me?”

“Because you will know that I will not suddenly appear to bother you,” she said, smiling. “I can invite my dear friends here, instead of having to come to Grayling, or to their estates where you might also happen to be. Leave me with this home of mine, and everyone wins.”

She was well aware of the fact that he did not like her being friends with his sisters. Over the years, she knew of his many attempts to keep his sisters away from her, but all had failed. He would fail in this endeavor too; she was already conjuring up a plan to make sure of it.

“No, my decision is made,” he said gruffly, rising from his chair, tossing his twisted napkin onto his plate. “You should prepare to become a bride for a fourth time. There will be someone out there who would take the risk, and I shall find him.”

He walked off without another word, though she thought she heard him muttering as he left. Indeed, she knew she had gotten under his skin, which was precisely where she needed to be if her plan was to work.

She watched him depart, far calmer than she had been the night before, when it had felt like the world was crumbling yet again. For the world was not crumbling, it just needed shoring up with a few ideas; assurances and insurances that she would not be made to leave this new, lovely home of hers.

I will not be leaving, Vincent. She smiled, those ideas already beginning to form. You will.