Page 14 of The Song of the Siren (The Venturesome Ladies of Little Valentine #2)

Proposals and impropriety.

Bea hurried to the door, hoping it was the doctor.

Though she had still not seen Stonehaven since the accident, his presence filled the house.

It was a stifling cloud of fiery rage that seemed to infuse every room.

His valet had appeared two days ago and left barely ten minutes later as Stonehaven had sacked him with a tirade of invective that included many words Bea had never heard before.

Since then, the entire household had become as jumpy as mice, trying to keep quiet for the sake of the invalid above, who bellowed and threw anything he could get his hands on.

To her dismay, it was not Dr Arkhurst, whom she’d hoped might soothe Stonehaven’s fury, as her father’s efforts had been met by the demand he ‘bugger off and pray,’ and he was now loath to aggravate the marquess further.

Instead, she found Mrs Adamson, dressed stylishly in an eye-catching gown of lavender silk that was a remarkable contrast with her bright red hair.

Bea smiled, shrinking inwardly for she had been gardening and was wearing one of her oldest gowns.

George was always a calming presence, and working beside him was peaceful.

She had hoped that sinking her hands into the soil and pulling up weeds might soothe her nerves and stop her endless worrying about Stonehaven and what his future held.

It hadn’t, and now she hid her hands behind her back, fearing they might still be grubby despite the scrubbing she’d given them.

“I’m sorry to call again so soon,” Mrs Adamson said apologetically. “I hope you understand it is not idle curiosity that brings me.”

“Of course,” Bea said with a smile, stepping back and opening the door. “Do come in. I’ll ring for tea.”

“Oh, please do not trouble Mrs Adie. I am awash with the stuff, for Mrs Fairway believes a strong cup of tea cures all ills,” she said with a grimace.

Bea smiled and led her through to the parlour. “I can believe that.”

“In truth, I came here hoping I might have a few words with Stonehaven.”

“Oh.” Bea stared at her. She desperately wished to speak with Stonehaven herself, though she did not know what she might say to him.

Nothing of any use, she feared. But this woman had been his friend.

She knew him well. Perhaps a visit from her, from someone who had once been close to him, might lift his spirits.

“I know it is terribly inappropriate,” Anne said, twisting her fingers together in her agitation. “But your father rarely minds such behaviour so deeply as most, and I thought perhaps—”

“Papa isn’t here,” Bea said, frowning. “And I really ought not allow it when he is not here to give his opinion, but…Oh, if you can do Lord Stonehaven a little good, raise his spirits perhaps, I would be so grateful. The poor man is suffering, and he’s so—so very angry.”

“Angry?” Mrs Adamson repeated, paling. “W-Who is he angry with?”

Bea shrugged. “The entire world, the man responsible for his injuries, inanimate objects. Himself.”

“I see.” She swallowed, looking very much like she wanted nothing more than to turn tail and see herself out.

Bea did not entirely blame her. The idea of facing Stonehaven, the impotence of not knowing what to say, of how to give comfort without offering platitudes, it made one wish to be anywhere else.

It was always tempting to leave people to their grief, to shy away from it rather than wade through it to offer some clumsy form of solace, but that was cowardly.

Bea watched Mrs Adamson, hoping she was stronger than that, for Stonehaven needed someone. To her relief, the lady raised her chin. She was still a ghastly shade of white, but she nodded.

“Well, if he wishes for someone to shout at, he may shout at me. If you would be so good as to show me up.”

“This way, then,” she said, and led her out of the parlour and up the stairs. The house was quiet, but Bea’s skin prickled as she grew closer to Stonehaven’s door, increasing her conviction his rage and grief were tangible.

Glancing at Mrs Adamson, she raised her hand to the door and knocked gently.

“Go to the devil!” bellowed a deep voice on the other side.

Bea jumped and turned with an apologetic smile.

“It no more than I expected,” Mrs Adamson said calmly, as she reached for the doorknob.

Bea watched as she slipped inside and then turned away, hurrying back down the stairs.

Stonehaven stiffened as he heard the door open, turning towards the sound as his heart picked up.

“Who’s there?” he demanded tersely.

“Good morning, Lawrence, it’s Anne.”

Stonehaven muttered a curse. “Oh, now you remember my name. The last time we spoke, it was my lord . Forgotten your manners, have you, now that I’m an invalid? Reckon you don’t need to use my title?”

“Of course not. I was purposely trying to rile you when you visited me, which I did very well, did I not? That is not my aim today. Quite the opposite.”

Her voice was calm, but he heard a tremor, a slight hitch as she spoke. Did she pity him? Well, of course she pitied him. He was pitiable, was he not? The thought made him want to lash out.

“Oh, I see. Come to soothe the wounded beast, have you? Beard the lion in his den?”

“Not exactly.”

Perfume drifted towards him, a flowery scent that made his nose wrinkle and his eyes sting.

He had never known Anne to wear strong perfume, but this seemed to fill the room, choking him, and he grimaced.

There was a rustle of fabric and Stonehaven watched the play of light before his vision as through thick cloud while she walked around the bed to sit on the far side closest to the window.

The curtains were only partway open, for he could not bear too much light.

As she sat, he felt the movement through the mattress and concentrated on the dim shape before him.

Most of what he saw were shadowy forms in shades of grey, but he thought he saw a darker shadow, reddish brown, and realised it was her bright red hair piercing the fog he now inhabited.

“What, then?” he demanded. “Whatever it is, get on with it. I’m a busy man,” he added with a sneer, relishing the idea that the words might make her flinch.

“I have come to apologise.”

“Apologise? What the hell for?”

There was a brief silence. Stonehaven waited, curious.

“It’s my fault. This… this wretched situation, your injuries. It’s all my fault.”

Her voice broke and Stonehaven recoiled, horrified by the notion she might weep over him.

“Oh. You lifted the barrel and smashed it into my head, did you?” he replied sardonically. “I never knew you had it in you, Anne. You’re a deal stronger than you look. Here I was believing it was that great drunken oaf who did this, but no… all along, it was you.”

He knew he was being cruel, but he didn’t care. Why should he?

“I did not smash you over the head as you know full well, you wretched man,” she said, a thread of anger in her voice, which made him feel better.

At least she wasn’t weeping. “Stop trying to put me out of temper with you when I am trying to apologise. You know me well enough to remember I cannot abide being in the wrong, but I am and I’m trying to say how sorry I am, if you would only listen! ”

Though he still could not fathom what she had to be sorry about, he waved an impatient hand at her.

“If I had not tried to intervene with those young men, this need never have happened. You have told me before that my presence often adds fuel to a flammable situation, and I have never heeded you. I am strong-willed, and I hate that being female and pretty is a reason for keeping my head down and out of trouble. I’d far rather be in trouble, at the heart of it, and sorting it out for myself.

But that was not the correct approach. I ought to have sought help, and your injuries, what happened…

that is a direct result of my stubbornness. ”

She fell silent. Stonehaven considered her words, stirred them about with the toxic mix of rage and grief that seemed to burn through his organs, seething in his blood and guts, and discovered nothing had changed.

“Piffle,” he said contemptuously. “That’s just like you, Anne.

Trying to take everything on yourself. Get caught in a compromising situation with a man through no fault of your own?

Well, there’s no other way out. I must run to my old friend Stonehaven and beg him to marry me and save the family name, despite us being entirely incompatible.

Family name is tarnished because Stonehaven is less than eager to tie the knot?

Well, I’d best run away from everyone and bury myself in obscurity for the rest of my days.

Stonehaven becomes an invalid? Well, that’s obviously your fault too.

I suppose you’ll be offering to marry me now?

” he said with a derisive bark of laughter.

There was a taut silence.

“Anne?” he said, alarm thrilling through him.

“Well, why not?” she demanded indignantly.

“It’s the least I can do. It is my fault, no matter what you say, and I feel guilty.

You need help, whether or not you like to admit it.

I know you, Stonehaven. I know your home, your people, your history.

I know what you like and don’t like. I’m not so frail that I’ll burst into tears when you shout at me, which you will, and…

well, without putting too fine a point on it, what are your options? ”

“Oh, well, that’s charming. Here I was thinking I might as well put a bullet in my brain, but you’ve made me feel so much better,” he snapped, folding his arms.

There was a sudden bouncing upon the mattress and before he could exclaim and demand what was happening, soft hands pressed against his cheeks. “Stonehaven!” Anne exclaimed, her voice thick with alarm and emotion. “Promise me, oh, you must promise me, you won’t—you wouldn’t ever—”