Page 26 of The Song of the Siren (The Venturesome Ladies of Little Valentine #2)

Her Grace’s favour.

“I’m sure you don’t really need me to—”

“We do,” Izzy said, her voice firm as she placed Clara’s hand more firmly upon her arm.

Bea smiled and nodded, trying to take her eyes from Anne’s lovely figure as she walked ahead of them, up the hill towards Hatherley Hall.

She imagined Stonehaven must have always admired her style and the confident way she comported herself.

He might no longer see it, but he knew she was sophisticated and would be a credit to him.

Scolding herself for allowing her mind to drift, she returned it to this morning’s unforeseen outing.

Clara had been desperately trying to make excuses not to come with them in reply to the Dowager Duchess’ summons, but they had all agreed that, as a founder member of the Venturesome Ladies, she ought to be there.

Clara let out a sigh, and Izzy patted her hand. “Courage, love. She might bark but I doubt she’ll actually eat us.”

“How very reassuring,” Clara replied, with a surprising amount of asperity.

Bea smiled despite her inner turmoil. She believed the club, as new as it was, had already had a positive effect on Clara, who was facing up to things she would never have done a short time ago.

“Why do you think we’ve been summoned, Anne?” Izzy asked breathlessly as they walked up the hill towards the grand house

“I do not know,” Anne replied over her shoulder. “But I don’t doubt we will find out soon enough. The dowager does not strike me as a woman who enjoys small talk and social niceties.”

“Oh dear,” Clara muttered, paling at the idea that even those crutches of polite society would be taken away from her.

“Excellent,” Izzy said, trying to brace Clara with her own enthusiasm. “For I cannot stand such meaningless chatter either.”

Anne smiled at them, though Bea thought she looked somewhat distracted.

Was she regretting her decision to marry Stonehaven, or was she full of eager anticipation?

That she might marry the man for guilt alone, not appreciating how wonderful he was, and what a chance she had been given, ate away at Bea’s composure.

A heavy lump formed in her throat, but she kept her eyes on the path.

Izzy had already remarked that she looked pale and out of sorts and Bea did not want her sister to realise just how wretched she was, for Izzy would not stop until she had discovered why she was miserable.

It was bad enough that Clementine had been sufficiently worried by Stonehaven’s remaining at the vicarage to offer to stay too, rather than go back home with her new husband as she had clearly longed to do.

They walked through the gates to Hatherley Hall to discover the place was a hive of activity.

Their father had explained that Hatherley Hall had been in the dowager’s family for generations, passed down the female line on the event of the eldest daughter’s marriage.

According to Papa, the dowager had spent much time here with her grandson after his father died.

The young duke used to be a frequent visitor to the town, talking to everyone and spending his pocket money, though he had not been seen here in many years.

What had brought the dowager back, no one knew, but she had hired a vast army of workers from the local area and had embarked on an entire restoration of the house and gardens.

The townsfolk were delighted, not only to have the business generated by such a vast undertaking, but also to have their most revered family back in residence.

Those with long memories, however, had warned the dowager might not only make sweeping changes to her own property, as she had a habit of interfering in the running of the town if she thought things were not being done as they ought.

Given this, Bea had felt some trepidation at the summons they had all received, demanding they call upon her.

Had the dowager taken against the Venturesome Ladies?

Did she disapprove and want them to disband their club?

If so, the lady would have a fight on her hands, Bea thought grimly, her mood primed to do battle by her own inner turbulence.

The house itself was ancient and grand, built to impress, but with elegant, austere lines that had softened with the passage of time, not unlike the dowager herself. As they arrived at the front door, it opened as if by magic, to reveal a sombre-looking butler.

Anne, who walked ahead of them, greeted this majestic personage without so much a blink, and they were shown through a hallway with gleaming marble tiles and some of the largest paintings Bea had ever seen.

Anne appeared entirely undaunted by the grandeur around them—though Clara appeared to shrink the farther they got into the house—and Bea wondered if she had been wrong.

Perhaps Anne would make Stonehaven a marvellous wife after all.

It seemed as if she knew this world, his world, and was clearly adept at navigating it.

They had been friends once, and… and so perhaps they might fall in love and lead happy lives together.

Bea’s heart twisted, yet she knew she ought to hope for such an outcome if she really cared for Stonehaven’s future.

Her papa did not believe in the match, however, and he was the most insightful man she had ever known.

This last thought, though far less charitable, was the one that fuelled her as they were shown into a lavishly furnished parlour, where a fire burned in the vast grate despite the warmth of the day.

“Mrs Adamson, the Misses Beatrice and Isabelle Honeywell, and Miss Clara Halfpenny to see you, your grace.”

“Yes, yes, I’ve got eyes, don’t I?” the dowager said impatiently.

“Run along now, Howard, and get that tea tray sent up without delay. I’m parched and tell them not to forget the Ratafia biscuits, or I shall be very cross with you.

I am quite certain I ordered them to appear with every tea tray, but that foolish chef, who thinks himself so very clever, believes he can thwart me. Don’t you let him get away with it!”

“Yes, your grace,” the butler replied, apparently unperturbed at being spoken to in such a manner.

“Go away, then,” she said dismissively, as the butler gave a dignified bow and showed himself out.

“Dear Monsieur Alfonse is a marvellous chef, but rather touchy. He has not forgiven me for preferring the recipe your Mrs Fairway gave me over his own and is determined to punish me,” the dowager explained, sounding somewhat aggrieved.

“I’m sure Mrs Fairway will be delighted to hear that,” Izzy replied with an impish grin.

The dowager scowled at her, raising a lavishly bejewelled lorgnette to do so, though her eyes appeared perfectly sharp and eagle-like with or without the pretty glasses. “Hmph. Young ladies are supposed not to speak until spoken to.”

“Then it will be a very dull conversation,” Izzy murmured mutinously.

“What’s that, gel? Don’t whisper. I cannot abide girls who don’t speak up!”

Clara moaned softly and looked as though she might be ill, but Izzy was undeterred.

“I thought we were not supposed to speak until spoken to?” she remarked tartly.

“Impertinent chit!” the dowager exclaimed, though her eyes sparkled with a merry light, and Bea realised she was relishing the exchange.

“Oh, horribly impertinent,” Izzy agreed with a grin. “So impertinent I shall ask you why you have demanded our appearance before you this morning. If you would be so good as to explain.”

“Oh, if I would be so good , Miss Hoity Toity…! I shall have words with your father about your manners, young lady.”

“You won’t be the first,” Bea muttered, casting Izzy a quelling look in the hopes she might hold her tongue. Izzy grinned at her, quite unrepentant. Poor Clara looked green.

“You must excuse our enthusiasm,” Anne said smoothly, her voice suddenly far more cultured than Bea had heard it before. “We are only so very curious to discover what we might do for you, your grace.”

The dowager looked from Izzy to Anne, her eyes narrowing. “I swear I know you.”

“I find that unlikely,” Anne replied. “For I believe I should remember meeting you if I had.”

The dowager grumbled, dissatisfied by this response, but let it go, instead turning her beady gaze upon Beatrice. “I understand that your older sister, who has lately become the Countess of Beaumarsh, is the patron of your club, the Venturesome Ladies?”

“Yes, your grace, that is correct,” Bea answered, darting a glance at Izzy, who shrugged.

“Well, that is very cosy, I’m sure, and I don’t doubt she’ll be generous if her husband allows it.

However, she ain’t here, and I am. It’s for that reason I propose taking over as your patron.

You’ll never get the niffy naffy middle classes to join when you’ve scullery maids and cooks and the like among your ranks.

Not unless you’ve someone with enough social clout to make it acceptable.

Your sister might be a countess, but she’s got a way to go before she has enough presence to carry it off.

Everyone here knows her as Clementine Honeywell, and that won’t change soon.

So, there you have it. If you want to make the club a success, you’ll accept my patronage. ”

Izzy sprang to her feet, indignation writ large in every line of her stiffly held body. “If that is all, your grace, we thank you kindly for your interest in our club, but find we have nothing further—”