Page 36 of The Song of the Siren (The Venturesome Ladies of Little Valentine #2)

Nothing to sea here.

Bea dozed, aware the sun was rising outside her bedroom window but too tired to stir.

She had hardly slept, guilt a sickening weight in her heart, crying herself into a state of exhaustion and then staring up at the darkness as her tired mind relived the moments she had shared with Stonehaven over the past weeks.

There was a desperate part of her that wanted to run down the corridor and into his room and confess how monstrously she’d behaved.

What a relief it would be to explain that she was Bea, not Sally.

In her mind, the scene had different outcomes.

Sometimes she saw him exclaim with delight and hug her to him, but there were other alternatives too, ones where she got everything she deserved rather than what she wished for, as he raged at her, furious for lying to him.

In both types of scenario, he insisted on doing the decent thing and marrying her.

Icy silences and cold reproaches that made her feel sick to her stomach followed the angry reactions, not that she blamed him for it.

She had made her bed, had she not? The irony of getting what she wanted so desperately under such circumstances made her weep harder, until she had no tears left to cry.

In her state of desolation and fatigue, she was only dimly aware of movement outside the vicarage, of soft voices and the sound of hooves upon gravel. Too wretched to wonder who was about at such an hour, she ignored it, and drifted in misery.

Sometime later, as the church bells rang seven, Bea forced herself out of bed, her eyes gritty and sore.

She washed at the basin, shivering as a fresh breeze stirred the curtains and reminded her summer was over and autumn upon them.

Moving through her usual routine like a sleepwalker, somehow, she dressed and went downstairs to breakfast. Izzy was not around yet and it seemed Father had gone out on some early errand.

Only Mrs Mabs was at the table, with Caspar and Daisy.

Bea greeted her and kissed Caspar’s curly head before bending to kiss Daisy too. The little girl giggled and, with sticky hands, offered her a mangled piece of bread and jam.

“No, thank you, darling. You eat it,” Bea said, summoning a smile from somewhere as she sat down.

“Well, you look like you’ve lost a shilling and found a ha’penny,” Mrs Mabbbs observed with a frown. “Are you feeling poorly, Miss Bea? You’re paler than Caspar’s porridge, and that’s a fact.”

“Just rather tired,” Bea said, and tried to lift the teapot, only to discover her hand trembling.

“Here, let me.” Mrs Mabbs reached over and poured out the tea, adding three lumps of sugar to the brew and a generous drop of milk. “Drink that down while I dish you up some eggs,” she added, taking Bea’s plate.

“Oh, there’s no need, I can serve myself,” Bea protested, but Mrs Mabbs would not be swayed, so Bea submitted, drinking her too sweet tea and meekly eating a plate of scrambled eggs under Mrs Mabbs’ watchful eye.

Afterwards, she admitted she did feel somewhat revived and put up no argument when Mrs Mabbs advised a bracing walk along the beach.

“It’ll blow the cobwebs away and put some colour in your cheeks,” she said, deftly wiping jam from Daisy’s small fingers as the little girl wriggled impatiently, eager to get down.

Bea did as she was told, wanting to get away from the house before Stonehaven appeared.

It was getting harder to avoid him, not least because she did not want to.

She wanted to be beside him always, revelling in the warmth of his regard, in the strength of his arms as they held her, treating her as something precious and rare even though he had no idea what she looked like.

Never had she felt that a man would love her even if she grew old and fat, or if some fateful accident ruined her face.

What would they find to admire in her then, when that gift of beauty, that quirk of nature, was taken from her?

Not much , was the answer that always resounded in her ears.

Not this time. Not with Stonehaven.

He thought her a serving girl, did not know what she looked like outside of what his fingertips could help him imagine, and yet he found a woman worth admiring, worth giving his time and affection.

Bea made her way down to the beach, relieved to discover it was quiet today.

Though there were occasional glimpses of sunshine, too many clouds billowed overhead.

A cool wind whipped about, tugging at her skirts and pulling at the hatpins securing her bonnet.

Turning her back to it, Bea walked along the sand, far enough away from the waves not to risk getting her feet wet.

She stared down, automatically searching for shells and sea glass as she had always done since she was a small girl.

Movement ahead of her caught her eye, however, and Bea looked up to discover another woman on the beach, staring out to sea. She turned, smiling at Bea as she approached.

“Good morning. It’s Miss Honeywell, I think?” the woman said, holding out her hand to greet Bea.

“It is. And you are Miss Marwick. I have seen you at our club meetings, but I have not had the opportunity to speak to you,” Bea said, wishing she had paid more attention so she could have avoided the woman. She seemed very nice, but Bea had no desire to speak to anyone.

“Yes, and now you are wishing me to the devil,” the woman said candidly, laughing at the appalled look on Bea’s face. “Oh, no, please don’t feel bad. I have the very same look when people come across me while I am trying to find some peace.”

Bea smiled ruefully. “Oh, dear. Was it so very obvious?”

Miss Marwick shook her head. “Only to one who eschews the company of others more often than most. Just tell me you do not need a confidante, for I am quite willing and able. If that is so, I shall mind my own business and leave you to your peaceful walk.”

“No,” Bea said, touched, but not about to put her trust in a stranger. “I have my sister if the need arises, but I am glad to know I have an alternative. I hope you may allow me to make the same offer, for it strikes me you too are here on the beach alone, staring out to sea.”

“So I am,” Miss Marwick said enigmatically. “And I shall remember that. Good day to you, Miss Honeywell.”

Bea nodded, carrying on along the shore, past the jutting rocks that made splendid rock pools once the tide was out, now filled with tiny crabs and darting fish locked in miniature worlds all their own until the sea came back to reclaim them.

She started as a dark shape seemed to detach from the rocks, taking form and shape.

“Oh, I did not mean to startle you!” Clara Halfpenny exclaimed when Bea gave a little squeal of surprise as she rounded the small promontory to carry on her walk.

Bea let out a breath, holding a hand pressed against her chest. “Not your fault. I was woolgathering,” she said, still sounding a little shaken. Barking took her attention, and she looked around to see Clara’s puppy gambolling back to her, his short legs wet from chasing the waves.

Clara nodded, her expression pensive as she bent down to pet the small dog, who wriggled in ecstasy at the attention. “You look as though the weight of the world is on your shoulders. Are you well, Bea?”

Bea wondered if the entire town would ask after her health today and if, by teatime, everyone in Little Valentine would know she was out of sorts.

Usually, she did not mind the fact everybody knew everyone’s business, for that was the price of such a community, but today it felt intrusive, and she could not help but wish they would leave her be.

“I didn’t sleep very well and have the headache,” she said, which was entirely true and so soothed her guilt at not stopping to speak to Clara. “If you’ll excuse me,” she said, softening her rather brusque leave-taking with an apologetic smile.

Clara watched as Bea hurried away, a nagging sense of unease gnawing at her.

Something was wrong there. Not that it was any of her business, but she’d lay her best bonnet on Lord Stonehaven being at the heart of it.

Not that her best bonnet was worth a farthing.

Still, people had a tendency to overlook Clara.

Not out of spite or malice, though there were certainly those who did that too, but because she did everything in her power to disappear.

If making herself small and invisible had been an art form, Clara would have been a master.

Though this was a rather dismaying talent, and hardly something to take pride in, it offered one slight advantage.

Clara noticed things and people did not notice her noticing.

She had seen the way Bea watched Stonehaven and, before he had lost his sight, the gently flirtatious but meaningless way he treated her.

Stonehaven was unmoved by her beauty, or at least, if he was touched by it, he considered her too young and innocent for his taste.

A reasonable enough conclusion from a man of the world and one who chose sophisticated lovers, according to the scandal sheets.

Yet that did not explain why Clara had seen the two kissing so passionately in the vicarage garden yesterday afternoon.

She had been walking Benny, who had stopped to attend to a call of nature, and had frozen upon noticing the intimate scene.

Clara had not known what to do, whether to turn and flee or stay put.

As it was, she had been too shocked to do either, and it had not mattered, for the embrace had ended a moment later and Bea had guided Stonehaven around the back of the house.