Page 38 of The Song of the Siren (The Venturesome Ladies of Little Valentine #2)

Bea blushed, a fierce surge of colour that seemed to burn hotter with the brandy to fuel it. “I am afraid you have quite misunderstood,” she began, holding onto her dignity by a thread, but Anne reached out and grasped her hand.

“No, love. I haven’t. Don’t worry, I won’t tell a soul, and you have excellent taste. I loved him once myself, or thought I did. For me it was only a girlish fancy, over soon enough, but I cannot help but think it is not so for you.” Bea snatched her hand free.

“You must think me very gauche, but I find I cannot discuss such things with Lord Stonehaven’s intended bride.”

“Oh, that,” Anne said, with a dismissive wave.

“We’re not getting married. He came last night to tell me it was a terrible mistake.

It was, obviously, but I felt like I had to offer.

He needs someone, that much is evident, and I felt so dreadfully responsible for his accident.

But he won’t have me, and I cannot pretend that I am not deeply relieved. ”

Bea stared, so stunned she could hardly take it in. That the woman did not wish to marry Stonehaven was astonishing enough, but that he had come to tell her he did not wish to go through with it…!

Anne laughed. “Don’t look so horrified. He would have married me if I had insisted. His honour is far too well developed to do anything less, but we were both too relieved to be foolish about it.”

“He’s not marrying you?”

“No, nor anyone else, the poor fellow, for it seems he has fallen in love with—” Anne gasped and slapped a hand to her mouth.

“Curse me and my fiddlestick tongue. Please forget I said that. Lord, I had forgotten how potent this brandy was. I should have words with your papa, for he gave it to me,” she added ruefully.

“Stonehaven has fallen— in love?” Bea said, her heart suddenly in her mouth.

Anne made a face. “Oh, lud. Bea, you must promise me, hand on heart, you will not tell another soul. I promised him faithfully and here I am not a day later, spilling his secrets. I am usually the soul of discretion too! Oh, that Mr Allenby has a lot to answer for. I blame him for putting me in such a temper. What a horrid woman I am.”

Bea took another sip of the brandy, finding her heart warming as the rest of her glowed.

Stonehaven loved her. Her breath caught as she raised the glass once more.

Though she had believed his regard entirely sincere, she had not dared to consider such a thing possible.

He liked her and was fond of her, she knew, and she had not doubted he wished to spend time with her.

Bea had also considered the possibility he might have loved her, given a chance, but that he had already given her his heart…

Joy surged through her, only to be followed by a crushing sense of loss as she realised it made no difference.

“Oh. Oh, love. No.”

Bea looked up in confusion to see Anne watching her with a look of sincere regret upon her face.

“No?”

“It’s not you,” Anne said gently, putting down her drink and moving closer to Bea.

She slid an arm around her shoulder. “I’m afraid there’s someone else.

Oh, plague take me, I shall have to explain it all, only you must swear to me you will not breathe a word or speak to the girl about it.

Stonehaven would never forgive me, and I have sworn to be a better friend to him. ”

“I swear,” Bea said, not knowing whether to laugh or cry.

“You’ve a maid working for you, Sally. She must be new, for I have never seen her,” Anne added, looking at Bea expectantly.

Bea said nothing, unwilling to compound her villainy by lying to Anne as well.

“Well, I don’t know what it was she did for him, but he said she gave him back his pride and made him feel whole again.

He said he was in danger of doing something foolish like offering to marry her. ”

“M-Marry her?” Bea repeated, astonished.

Anne looked at her, frowning. “Yes, marry her. Why do you look so— Oh, my God! Oh, Anne, you utter fool!”

Bea jumped in surprise as Anne shot to her feet. “Whatever is wrong?”

Anne stood staring down at her, folding her arms, eyes flashing. “You’re Sally,” she said, her tone accusing.

Bea swallowed, a denial climbing up her throat. Gathering her courage, she held Anne’s gaze. She had told enough lies. “You cannot tell him.”

Anne clapped her hands to her face and groaned. “Oh, you foolish, foolish child.”

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” Bea said, a spark of indignation bursting inside her before being snuffed out by the crushing weight of her own guilt. “I know it was wicked of me. I promise you I am filled with disgust for my dreadful behaviour, but… it wasn’t entirely my fault.”

“No,” Anne said, finding her way back to the brandy decanter. She carried it back to where they were sitting and poured two large measures. “I don’t suppose it was.”

“He had an accident and fell over in his room, and he was so raw, his pride so… so bruised. If he’d thought it was me come to his rescue, he would have been mortified,” Bea said, finding her throat becoming tight as she remembered how injured he’d been, not just physically but in his spirit too.

“So you pretended to be a serving girl.”

Bea nodded. “And then the next time he recognised my voice and… and it just happened. Being Sally made me bolder. I said and did things I never would have dared as myself, but he didn’t know Sally, didn’t know she was considered a great beauty, that everyone thought she ought to marry a duke or some such nonsense.

I was just a girl, one he liked talking to, and… and I liked him too, so… so very much.”

Anne reached for her hand again and this time Bea took it, holding on tight.

“You won’t tell him?” she whispered.

Anne shook her head. “But you should. He said leaving you felt like dying. He deserves better than that, don’t you think?”

“Leaving?” Bea stared at her. “He’s leaving?” she said, Anne’s other heartrending words fading in the light of that revelation.

Anne’s face paled, her expression so troubled that Bea felt her entire body grow cold. “Oh, love. Didn’t you know? I’m so sorry. He left this morning.”

“No!”

Bea got to her feet, something that felt like panic surging through her veins. “No, he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t do that, wouldn’t go without—”

“He said he was leaving at first light. George has gone with him,” Anne added, twisting her fingers together.

Bea gazed at her numbly. Stonehaven had gone. He’d left Little Valentine, and she’d not had the chance to say goodbye. He loved her, wanted to marry her, and he did not know who she really was. Swamped in misery she drained the remaining brandy in one desperate swallow.

“I think that’s enough,” Anne said, taking the empty glass away from her. “I would never have given it to you had I realised that— Oh, good heavens, what a tangle.”

Bea tried to consider what to do now, to breathe, but her thoughts were in turmoil.

She needed to go home, back to the sanctuary of her bedroom where she could think clearly or try to.

Something must be done. Stonehaven could not just walk out of her life and never know that she loved him.

Somehow, she must tell him, and in such a way that it would not diminish his honour if he hated her for what she’d done, and did not marry her, despite the intimacies they had shared.

For marrying the man she loved, knowing he could never forgive her was something she would not endure.

“I must go home. Papa will wonder what has become of me,” she said, trying to keep her voice neutral, hoping Anne could not read her inner turmoil, or she would insist on coming too. Bea could not have that. She must think, and quickly.

If Stonehaven was going home to Haven House, the journey would take him the best part of three days. Where would he stop tonight? She needed a map, needed to know what route he would likely take and the best inns along that route.

“I’ll come with you,” Anne said at once.

“Oh, no. Please do not. You have had a trying day, and the truth is, I would rather be alone. I knew Stonehaven would leave, and I accepted that, but it is rather a shock. If you don’t mind, I would just like to walk by myself, so I might gather my thoughts before I see my family.”

Anne nodded, her expression full of remorse and sympathy. Bea felt utterly rotten, not only for deceiving her now, but for having been so jealous of her relationship with Stonehaven.

“Of course I understand, but promise me you will come to me if you need to talk? I am the soul of discretion. Usually,” she added, blushing as she remembered her earlier slip. “I really am. I cannot believe I was so very indiscreet.”

“I’m glad you were. And I’m glad to know that he loved me, that it meant something to him. It helps, you see, to know I was not the only one who felt it.”

Anne nodded. “I understand,” she said softly, and hugged Bea. “Take care. Come to me at any time. I should like to be your friend, if you will allow it.”

Bea hugged her back, grateful for her warmth, for the lack of condemnation, which surely she had earned, and for the reassurance of her discretion, which she believed to be sincere.

“I will, but now I must go. Thank you, Mrs Adamson.”

“Anne,” she reminded her at once, smiling. “I asked you to call me, Anne. If we are to be friends, then you must.”

“Forgive me. Thank you, Anne, for your kindness. I won’t forget it,” Bea said, and hurried away.