Page 16 of The Lady of the Lamps (Vows in Vauxhall Gardens #1)

S pencer spent several days trying to decide whether he ought to call on Lady Beatrix to offer his condolences.

His first instinct was to do so. The few times they had met, they had always spoken, and in Bath, she had been more understanding than he could have expected.

Yes, he didn’t think he ought to pursue his romantic feeling towards her, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t express how sorry he was for the loss of her father, did it?

But he had never called on her. And in the cold light of day, the prospect was rather daunting. What if she read something into it—something he could not follow through on? Or, worse, what if she slammed the door in his face after his strange behavior every time they had met?

And so it was eight days after he had returned to London, and nine since her father had died, that he told himself to stop being such a coward.

He liked to think he was a good man, raised with principles and honor, and such things surely necessitated that he inform Lady Beatrix of how sorry he was for her loss.

He did not tell his friends of his plan.

They would surely read too much into it, too—especially as he did not make a habit of calling on young ladies.

He hadn’t before he’d gone to France, either…

But that was because he was having far too much fun to have anyone thinking he was marking them out as his future wife.

Now he did not believe he would have a future wife.

*

Beatrix hated coming downstairs to find the new heir—whose Christian name she had rifled through her father’s documents to find—seated at the head of the table, breaking his fast and looking like he owned the place.

Which, of course, he did.

Even though she now knew his first name was Thomas, she could not imagine ever using it out loud.

She didn’t plan to be in this house long enough that he would ask her to use his first name.

It was too awkward—and that was ignoring the damage that would be done to her reputation once the ton knew that they were living under the same roof, unchaperoned.

And yet she would surely be the topic of gossip once she found herself a paid position somewhere. There was no positive side to either solution.

He stood when she entered, and it hurt her heart to see Papa’s place taken. She was pleased, however, that her new black dress had arrived from the dressmaker’s the previous afternoon. At least she could greet the intruder feeling confident that she looked every part the lady that she was.

“Good morning, Lady Beatrix.”

“Good morning, Lord Haxbury,” she said, taking her seat and selecting a pastry from the plate in the center of the table. She did not really have an appetite, but she thought she should at least try.

“I trust you slept well?” Thomas said, taking a second pastry.

“Yes, thank you,” Beatrix lied. She had barely slept since her father had died—and the bags under her eyes were surely apparent to anyone who bothered to look. “And you?”

“Oh yes. After so much traveling, I was ready to take to my bed.”

Beatrix was sure the decanter of port she had seen him polishing off had also helped matters, but she did not say so.

“Do you have any plans for today?” she asked, time seeming to tick by incredibly slowly. It wasn’t that there was anything particularly wrong with the man, she thought—just that she resented his intrusion on her grief.

Well, and he was rather patronizing. But perhaps she was judging him too quickly.

“I plan to look at the accounts, and get all the properties sorted in my head, before I decide where I am to live.”

She nodded, but found she could not say anything. Those properties were the homes she had grown up in, spent her summers in, places where she had fond memories with her mother and father.

And now they were no longer hers. She could not stay in them, she would not make memories in them. Of course, she had always known that, as a girl, they would never be hers. That she would marry one day, and her husband’s home would become hers. But that didn’t make the reality any easier to bear.

“And you, Lady Beatrix?”

Of course he was asking her the same question, and yet she found she did not have an answer. She could no longer wallow in misery in the parlor undisturbed, for he was there now.

“I…might go for a walk. I have not decided.”

“Would you have time to come and speak with me in the study? I have a matter I wish to discuss with you.”

“Of course, my lord.” Anxiety bubbled in her stomach. She had a bad feeling about whatever it was he wanted to suggest to her.

And she was right to feel that way.

An hour after breakfast, when she had decided she would go and get some fresh air, with her maid Jemima for company, she passed by the study door.

With the door closed, it was easy to imagine that Papa was still behind it, reading some ancient myth that he’d newly discovered, or attending to the accounts.

But he was not, and the man who was behind the door wished to speak with her—and she thought she’d better get it over with before her walk.

She knocked, and the strange voice called “enter” and she felt goosebumps prickling across her arms at the horrible situation in which she found herself.

“Ah, Lady Beatrix. Please, take a seat.”

This is my home! she wanted to scream. I have come to this house every Season for my entire life. It is not your place to order me around.

But she kept her mouth shut. Because she knew that, legally, he was perfectly entitled to be sitting in her father’s chair, rifling through his carefully ordered paperwork.

Still, it didn’t feel right.

“I have a proposition for you.”

She sat before him, folded her hands in her lap, and waited to hear what he had to say.

“I understand that you did not expect your father’s sudden death, and have no other family, or plans for your future.”

Was he about to kick her out?

“No, I don’t, but—”

He gave her a strained smiled and held up his hand to silence her. “Please, Lady Beatrix, if you’ll allow me to finish. I have unexpectedly found myself as an earl, with estates and money I had not envisioned I would ever have—or if I did, not for many more years.”

Beatrix was unsure how old he was; thirty-five or older, she thought, perhaps approaching forty.

She didn’t even know how long he had been Papa’s heir; it wasn’t something they had ever talked about.

She presumed he had a father he had lost in order for him to be in this position. Perhaps brothers and uncles, too.

“And a man in my position needs a suitable wife. A woman of good breeding, who knows how to behave, and can provide handsome, intelligent heirs.”

His frank talk surprised her. He was clearly keen to wed and move a wife in as soon as possible—and a new countess surely would not want the old earl’s daughter around.

Not that she wanted to stay. Well, she did—but not with him there. And that was not possible.

“And so I rather think the solution to both our problems is that we wed.”

Beatrix was sure she had misheard him. Her mouth dropped open, and he surely thought she was a simpleton, for he had to call her name several times before she managed to respond.

“You mean—”

“I think you should become my wife, yes. You could keep everything your father worked for, and I would have a suitable wife who knows what it takes to be a countess.”

“I—I—” She couldn’t get a thought out, even if she had known what it was that she thought.

“You will need some time to think, of course. Perhaps you could give me your answer by the end of the week? If you are not amenable to the suggestion, I would like to begin searching for other candidates as soon as possible.”

She left the room in a daze. It was the most unexpected proposal of marriage she had ever received—and the most unromantic. And yet…he was offering for her to keep her home, her possessions, her position, her staff…

As unromantic and distasteful as she found him, the notion could not be dismissed out of hand.