Page 14 of Much Ado About Hating You (Second Chance Season #2)

Thirteen

B eatrice stopped writing, her quill hovering over the paper. “My lord, are you sure you’re well?”

Lord Peterson sat nearby in a small armchair, one ankle crossed over the other knee. A book lay open on his lap, but he had turned perhaps two pages in the last half hour. He’d been too busy scratching to read much. His hands roamed frantically every which way over his shoulders and neck, every bit of available skin.

He’d not asked her again to join him in his bedchamber, and he’d mostly stopped his attentions since the day Richard had interrupted their walk in the garden. A good thing. She would have had to reject him in clearer terms.

Even if Richard was being a big-hearted, stubborn donkey, he was still her donkey. For now. And the Petersons of the world held no interest anymore.

Beatrice set her quill down on the blotting paper. “You have seemed quite uncomfortable since sitting down, my lord.”

“I’m fine,” he grumbled. He reached for his teacup and took a sip, then rested it back on the saucer.

“Very well.” She returned to the contract she’d been translating.

“I do hope I’m not distracting you.”

He was, of course. He couldn’t seem to help it. Something about her busy at work made him wish to interrupt it. And usually with some disparaging remark. Did he think he was courting her with his warnings about work and women? She offered a noncommittal smile. Let him interpret it how he would.

He gave a tight laugh. “I think I’m allergic to something here in the country.”

“You’ll be more comfortable once you return to London.”

“Yes. Quite right. And when will you be making the journey?”

Returning to London. She’d not thought much about it until Richard had said he was looking for a house there. She’d waited for a thrill to zip through her. Something like disappointment had settled in her stomach instead. She’d no more wander the rooms Richard had designed, no more look out into the garden he’d planted with her in mind. He belonged in the country with the children and the boats and his woodshop and his brother. He was as comfortable as a king here, and she could not imagine him being so cozy in the loud, crowded streets of London.

She wished she was not so comfortable at Slopevale. She’d walked through morning mist the past two days to work on her contracts in his study. Richard had sat nearby, his silent companionship filling her with a soft sort of joy.

She didn’t want to leave him. And that tilted her world off-center, knocked the air out of her. She could not stay and leave behind Selena and her aunt and uncle. She could not stay and abandon the contracts she translated for her father. Impossible. Besides, men were flighty creatures, even Richard.

Hated her one moment, adored her the next? Unlikely. Or rather, very likely and very likely to end badly when he shifted back toward hate. She’d be left alone again. Best to keep things lighthearted. Nothing too deep, nothing too permanent.

A line of a song floated to her, the words coming haltingly to her lips. “Sigh no more, ladies, sigh no more. Men were deceivers ever. One foot on land and one on shore, to one thing constant never.”

True. Men were terribly inconstant. Deceivers. And yet she squirmed. The description did not fit Richard. He had never deceived her. Never pretended to like her when he didn’t. His struggle not to like her had been clearly evident the whole time as well. The kiss at Edmund’s funeral. His apologies in the gazebo. And even when he had refused to tell her what had happened between Selena and Martin, he had kept his promise to her cousin. He had told Beatrice that her cousin could provide the answer. He’d remained constant and truthful, even when abrasive. The copy of Quixote … his study… and what had he said?

I never hated you.

She might be sick. Her stomach roiled. Her head pounded.

“Are you unwell, Miss Bell?” Peterson asked, scratching the back of his neck and then opening his palm to scratch the inside of it.

“I’m afraid so.” Quite queasy. She would return to London after the wedding tomorrow.

The door flew open. “There you are, Beatrice,” Richard hissed. His hair stood straight up, and he heaved each breath as if he’d only just stopped running. He waved her closer when she shot to her feet.

“Excuse me, my lord,” Beatrice said, rounding the table and abandoning her papers. Peterson didn’t seem to care that she was abandoning him. Too busy scratching behind his ears like a dog.

And Richard… He’d come for her. She’d hurt him, and still he’d come.

But standing in the hallway, every muscle stiff, he had not come for reconciliation.

She stepped into the hallway and whispered, “Is something amiss?” She’d missed him last night in her bed. Had wanted nothing more than him curled around her, sprinkling kisses on her nape.

“It’s him ,” Richard whispered, leaning close to share the secret. “ He’s disappeared.”

Daniel. “Any chance he’s fleeing the country?”

“He’d never do anything so considerate.”

“What should we do?”

“I think it’s time to tell John.” His gaze flicked down the hall, toward the door that led to his brother’s study. “I was hoping perhaps you might…” He scratched the back of his neck, but the movement had nothing to do with itchiness. “I think I need your help. Evie and John might panic, and I need someone to keep them calm. John is going to be quite, quite angry with me. Perhaps he’ll reconsider decapitating me if you are there.” He was already moving up the stairs and up another flight of stairs and all the way down the hall.

She followed. “Where are we going?”

“To check on the children. I do not think Daniel would hurt them, but if I can reassure John the children are safe before telling him the news, perhaps he’ll spare me.” He stopped before a door and swung it open. Beatrice ducked, to see under his arm.

“Oh my,” she said at the same time he said, “Bloody hell.”

“Uncle Richard!” Lucy bounced to her feet and ran to him. She grabbed his arms and dragged him toward the middle of the nursery where Daniel sat on a rug, one small boy on either side of him. Daniel wore a nursemaid’s bonnet perched atop his head, an apron tied haphazardly around his waist, and he held the tiniest teacup Beatrice had ever seen in one hand, pinky raised.

He lifted the cup to Beatrice. “You’re just in time for tea.” He mouthed the word shrew , hiding half his lips from the children with his teacup.

Beatrice walked carefully into the room behind Richard, whose forced and frozen smile seemed more fatal wound. Better than a scowl and a roar. At least this way he would not scare the children.

“Where are Miss Bishop and Miss Pope?” he asked.

Daniel sighed. “Well, you know, I brought them a little bit of tea earlier. They enjoyed it. Must have had something in it to make them awfully tired though. They’re asleep through there.” He nodded toward a door where the children’s beds likely lay.

“You drugged the nursemaids.” Richard did not appear to be asking a question. “John is going to kill you, and I am going to help him.”

“Who am I going to kill?” John asked.

Beatrice’s heart stopped. Peeking over her shoulder, she saw the marquess. His affable wide smile had frozen on his face, and his eyes were draining of their cheerfulness. Rage, hot and white, took its place. “Richard… I must be hallucinating.” His hand shot out to grip the door frame. “Tell me, is our brother sitting in the middle of the nursery floor wearing a maid uniform? It appears he is, but… it cannot be so.”

Richard flailed to find words, his mouth opening and closing but producing no explanation.

Beatrice snuck into his side, trying to give him some of her strength.

“I’m quite real!” Daniel waved the teacup. “Lovely seeing you, too, John. Congratulations on the happy news. I look forward to seeing you shackle yourself to one woman for the rest of your life. Tomorrow will be a happy day, I believe.” He sipped from the teacup.

“Oh, God.” Beatrice poked Richard in the side. “The children are drinking the tea. Do you think he’s?—”

“Hell.” Richard swept into the room and gathered up all the teacups, snapping away the one that Daniel wielded with a flourish. He inspected them. “Empty, and they do not appear as if they’ve had anything in them at all.”

“Of course not,” Daniel said. “It’s pretend tea. What else would it be?”

That is when John transformed entirely. He barreled toward Daniel, a grumbling, yowling bear, and slammed his younger brother into the ground. “Get the children and run,” he bellowed.

Richard gathered the children under his wing. The boys were wide-eyed and trembling, and Lucy tucked herself into his side like a little bird seeking shelter. He shuffled them into Beatrice’s hold. “Please find Evie. Bring the children to her, or her mother if she’s about. I have to keep them from killing each other.”

The smack of bone on flesh. John had thrown the first punch.

Beatrice scrambled out of the room with the children. She found both Evie and her mother, Mrs. Hardy, downstairs and whispered to them both what was happening above stairs.

Mrs. Hardy immediately guided Lucy and the twins toward open garden doors. “Outside, dears. We’ll find something fun to do.”

And Beatrice and Evie raced upstairs. When they entered the nursery, it was only to witness a three-man brawl. They seemed a massive, grunting monster, six limbs tangled up with one another, three heads of dark hair, and big bodies. Only their clothing told them apart. But Richard was stronger and faster than the others. He worked every day in the sun, walking the fields, building things with his own hands, and he knew how to use his muscles. The marquess had rage on his side and honor, and he swerved to miss Richard as much as he flung out to hit Daniel.

Daniel seemed to be laughing through it all, as if he enjoyed the tussle. Richard tried to keep them away from one another, but as soon as he separated them, they’d surge back again, crashing together like animals brawling for dominance.

“Stop!” Evie yelled. “Stop right now!”

John lifted his head, his attention divided now between Daniel’s bleeding nose and his wife’s enraged voice. Richard poked his head up, too, immediately sighting Beatrice. His entire body sagged. His eyes seemed to say, Thank God you’re here finally . He might have rushed to her side, but she shot a finger out.

“Get him!” she cried.

John was lurching toward Daniel again, dove, grabbed him around the shins, sending him crashing to the ground.

Richard back into the fray.

Evie shot into the middle of it, too. She threw her arms out wide. “Stop now , I say.”

The three men froze. John still hugged Daniel’s legs. Daniel palmed the top of John’s head, keeping him at arm’s distance. Richard had a hold of John’s ankles, trying to drag him off Daniel. It could have been a great work of art, a tableau captured in marble and titled, Three Men Act Like Children .

“John,” Evie snapped.

He released his brother’s legs, and that released the tension in Richard’s thighs. Richard cried out as he toppled backward, crashing into the floor with a string of curses. He’d be bruised tomorrow. And on that magnificent arse. A shame.

John jumped to his feet, and Daniel tipped his head back, pinching his bloodied nose.

“Here, John.” Evie stabbed the floor next to her, and her groom made his way to her side. “Richard, stay just as you are.” He stretched his legs out in front of him with a wince. “And you.” Evie’s gaze fell on Daniel. “Do not move.”

“Not even to wiggle my feet?” Daniel asked.

Evie growled. “What were you doing with my children?”

“I believe they are my children,” Daniel said. “Or they were at one point. And even now.” He cleared his throat. “Strictly speaking.”

“You gave up any right you have to them,” John said. “I’m their father now.”

Daniel rolled his eyes. “You always were a self-righteous prig.”

“And you were always a selfish prick,” John said. “Oh, apologies… A selfish criminal .”

Daniel shrugged, inspected his torn and bloody knuckles. “At least I’ve had a bit of fun. How many years did you pine for little Evie without ever getting into her bed?”

John growled, pounced, and Evie latched almost her entire body onto his arm to keep him from jumping atop his brother.

“You should have stayed at the house,” Richard groaned, taking Beatrice’s proffered hand to stand.

“House?” John’s gaze swung like a scythe through wheat to Richard. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve been Ricky’s houseguest the past few days. I suffered an almost fatal injury. He, at least, knows something of hospitality and brotherly love.”

Richard rolled his eyes. “It was a flesh wound. And you forced your way into my home.”

“You invited him to stay with you?” John’s hands were fists again, this time aimed at Richard.

“No! Of course not! But…” Richard swallowed. “I did answer that letter he wrote to you last year. And I have been keeping up correspondence with him since. I did not think any harm would come of it. He’s a scoundrel, but… he’s still our brother.”

In his voice, Beatrice heard the little boy who never had a family or a place where he belonged. Did John hear it?

“You have put my family in danger,” John said.

“Come off it, you prat. No one’s in danger.” Daniel climbed to his feet, wiping his nose on the back of his sleeve. “Except me.”

Richard seemed to have bolted his jaw shut. He would say nothing in his own defense.

Head hung but voice firm, John said, “Get out of my house.”

“Me?” Daniel pointed to himself then to Richard. “Or him?”

“Both!”

“John,” Evie warned.

But her groom did not listen. He made for the door, busted hands bleeding inside of his pockets.

Daniel trudged behind him still wearing the apron, though the bonnet had fallen off in the fray. Beatrice followed Richard toward his house, keeping her distance. Her mind was too jumbled to talk, yet she could not let him out of her sight. He might need her, and she needed to know he was well. Daniel went in the direction of the village, forking off the road that led to Richard’s home.

She paused. Should someone stop him? Lock him up? What was to be done with an exiled lord who caused trouble as often as he breathed?

Richard had pulled out of sight before she could make up her mind, so she scrambled after him, lifting her skirts to run and catch up.

At the door of his house, Richard froze, hand on the doorknob, back curled. “You can go back to Slopevale, Beatrice. Evie might want you.”

“But you might need me.”

“I don’t need anyone. And you do not need me.”

“Nonsense.” She pushed past him and into the house, grabbed his wrist and pulled him into the kitchen. After a bit of bumbling through drawers and cupboards, she found some brandy and a clean cloth. “Sit.”

He did, but he wouldn’t look at her. She knelt by him and took his right hand in her own, splashed some brandy on the cloth, and began to clean his wounds.

He hissed. “I can do this myself.”

“You donkey.”

That earned a chuckle, and her heart smiled. She could do this. She had the power to make it right for him. She unfurled his hand and flipped it and placed a kiss in his palm.

That banished all his mirth, and he sank deeper into the seat, eyes closed. “I messed everything up. I have one job in life, and I failed at it.”

Carefully, she asked, “What do you think that one job is?”

“To keep the peace, to make sure everything moves smoothly. No ripples, no waves. No capsized boats.”

“None at all? For anyone? That seems an impossible task.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Very well, then.” She wanted to make him laugh again, to make his rugged face once more glow with the joy of living. “Can you tell me what you’re making in your woodshop? I spied on you one day, and I saw you working on something. It looks like a picture frame.”

“Naughty girl,” he mumbled.

“You know me well.” She kissed his temple.

He winced. “It is a picture frame. I made it for John and Evie and the children. John is going to have a portrait made after the wedding. All five of them together. And I think he wants to have individuals made as well. And one of him and Evie. I’m making frames for all of them.”

“What about you? Will you not be in any of the portraits?”

“Of course not.”

“But you’re part of the family.”

He shrugged. And that small lift and fall of his shoulder sliced through her like a blade.

She moved on to his other hand, ministered to the knuckles there. With his other hand—now clean though still bruised and battered—he traced the pads of his fingers down her cheek.

“Beatrice.” Her name a soft, warm whisper edged with some emotion she did not like a bit. “I’m sorry for fighting you. We will do as you wish. The house in London. I’ll travel there as often as I can manage. Perhaps once a month. I cannot lie… I want to fall asleep with you teasing me and wake wrapped around you every damn day. I want to watch you weave connections between men and countries with a flick of your quill across parchment and wait patiently until you stretch and yawn, to pick you up and carry you to our bed. I want to see you in that little garden beyond the study at dawn, noon, and midnight, winter, spring, and autumn. I want you for more than a moment… With snow in your hair and sun on your face. But if a moment is all you can give, I will take it with both hands and protect it. Be happy for it. I just want to make you happy.”

Finished cleaning his wounds, she kissed him lightly on the lips. “I must return. I’ll see you tomorrow. For the wedding.”

He nodded. She kissed his cheek, and then she left, her mind too full of so many things she wanted to say that she couldn’t say a single one. She’d have to sort through them tonight and, just as she did with her contracts, find the perfect words. This time for translating the feelings of her heart.

He just wanted somewhere to belong, someone to belong to, who would be proud of him instead of hide him, who would trust him. And she had denied him that. Why?

It was not that she scorned marriage. No.

She was afraid that if she loved someone enough to marry them, they would leave her. Afraid she would give everything, and find he no longer wanted it. Not even her father had loved her enough to stay. How could any other man?

But Richard wasn’t any other man. Certainly nothing like her father.

And as she clenched her hands to better keep the feel of his imprint on her palms and fingertips, she decided not to be scared anymore.