Regency Society. Ann LethbridgeЧитать онлайн книгу.
of by the many clients I have had the pleasure to serve.’
The sound of the bell at the front door pulled Bea’s attention away and she waited as another card was presented to her.
Taris Wellingham was here with his sister-in-law. Wiping down the crinkles in her skirt, she would have liked to have gone to the mirror, but Mr Radcliff’s presence did not allow her this one small vanity.
This afternoon Taris was dressed all in black and he looked enormous and masculine compared to Mr Radcliff. The names of the newcomers had wrought a considerable change in the demeanour of the clerk—now he looked as though he just wanted to be gone.
‘My lord.’ Bea tipped her head in Taris’s direction and then turned to Emerald. ‘Lady Wellingham. Might I present Mr Radcliff to you.’
Taris’s scowl was noticeable and she hurried on. ‘He is one of the men who handled my late husband’s properties.’
Emerald smiled slightly, though Taris merely fixed the man with his dangerous amber stare.
‘Well, I really ought to be going,’ Radcliff began as Emerald made her way over to the sofa in the corner by the fire and readied herself to sit. Taris had his hand on the back of her wingchair, his fingers splayed against the plane of the header. A touchstone. Her eyes flicked to Emerald Wellingham and the glance she gave indicated that she had noticed too.
‘My maid will see you out, Mr Radcliff.’
James Radcliff followed Sarah from the room.
‘For a minion of the law he seems remarkably awkward.’ Taris spoke as soon as the door shut.
‘He is rather a junior, I think,’ Bea replied.
‘Then what is he doing here? Surely a more senior partner should be sent to do business with you?’
Beatrice didn’t quite know how to answer and so chanced the first thing that came to mind. ‘He said that he would be pleased to help me get my affairs into order should I wish him to do so.’
When his glance met hers she blushed brightly and hated herself for doing it. Taris might not see such a reaction, but Emerald Wellingham definitely would.
His fingers against her skin and lips brushing the sensitive lobes of her ears. Whispering.
Emerald coughed once as she readied herself for speech. ‘ We are here because, although Lucinda is a lovely young woman, she is also one who is rather loose of tongue. It seems she has been remiss in the keeping of your secret.’
Taris stayed silent.
Was she speaking of the secret of her barren years and her lack of children? Suddenly the import of just what they were saying began to sink in.
‘I did not request her to keep quiet about this,’ Bea enunciated into the growing silence, for although Taris’s sister had seemed rather scatty she had also come across as a girl who did not mean harm.
‘A most unwise omission, then.’ Taris’s voice ran alongside that of Emerald, who was far more diplomatic.
‘You are more than kind in your lack of blame, Beatrice.’
‘Even though it seems as if your name now is being bandied about the salons with something akin to pity?’ Taris again and given in all the tones of a man to whom pity might be the ultimate insult.
‘I see.’ Bea could not quite, but the seriousness on both of their faces demanded at least a modicum of anxiety.
‘As a result of this indiscretion, Taris thinks it would be prudent to shepherd you into the Cannon affair this evening. A buffer, if you like. Lucinda has been firmly told to stay at home.’
‘By accompanying us the weight of the Wellingham name should squash such gossip back into the realm of rumour.’ Taris’s voice was deep.
‘Even though it is true?’ Bea was beginning to enjoy herself, for she wanted an absence of duplicity in this new life.
‘Truth is one of those words that can be shaped to hold any viewpoint.’
‘Just as privilege can,’ she returned and Taris’s laughter was loud.
‘ You do not bandy your opinions, Mrs Bassingstoke.’
‘Just as you do not soften yours, my lord.’
Challenge was reflected in his amber-golden eyes. And humour. It sat on his face easily, making him look even more beautiful than he usually did.
A feeling deep inside Bea’s stomach blossomed and burst into a singular ache of need. To feel him again inside her, the heat of them both melded around loving and the world dissolved into instinct. Pure. Simple. Honest.
If Emerald had not been there, Beatrice might have chanced it, might have walked into his arms and held him tightly against all the reasons why she shouldn’t. But the second broke when the clock chimed the quarter hour and his attention was drawn away by it.
Emerald Wellingham stood as the last chime was heard.
‘We will call by here in the carriage at half past nine. Will that give you enough time?’
‘Oh, I think five hours should be almost sufficient to make me look presentable.’
Bea liked the twinkle in the Duchess of Carisbrook’s eyes as she offered her hand to take her leave. ‘I look forward to tonight, then.’
Taris Wellingham did not try to make contact at all as he gave her a stiff bow and was gone.
He shouldn’t have let Emerald talk him into accompanying her. He had said nothing of any import to Beatrice about their hours together last night and he knew she would probably be expecting some sort of intimacy. Yet the knowledge of her ill husband’s last years made him wary.
For he was another man who would need care one day! Care to do all the little things that even now were harder month by month and year by year—he didn’t wish to saddle her with another dependent man.
The smell of the lawyer still lingered, unsettling him, a dark-coloured scent with top notes of bergamot. As his lack of sight had progressed, he often colour-coded people with the way they smelt.
Bea was green and fresh, Emerald the blue of the sea and Ashe a fiery orange-red.
James Radcliff’s scent held a danger hidden in his early flight and his careful enunciation, the brown of his fragrance shading honesty.
Lord, perhaps the lack of sleep he had suffered last night was catching up with him. He frowned as he followed his sister-in-law into the coach, adjusting the tightness of his trousers as he sat down to mull over his most unwise longing.
Bea paid special attention to her appearance that evening, allowing Sarah to fuss over her with unprecedented patience. She even endured her maid’s desire to fashion her hair into a complex pile of curls and the light touches of makeup that Elspeth insisted on were left intact when more usually she washed such indulgence away.
Tonight, however, she needed all the help that she could get and the thought of a mask between her and a society that might pillory her was comforting.
She even brought out a set of pearls that had been her mother’s and fastened them around her neck, liking the way they complemented the golden gown she wore, its bodice edged in silk roses and soft Honiton lace.
When the preparations were finished and Sarah turned her to the full-length mirror, more usually left hidden behind the closet door, Beatrice allowed herself the luxury of looking and was surprised at the stranger who stared back.
No longer quite plain? Even a little pretty? The smile on her face deepened her dimples and the light caught at her hair so that the threads of other colours could be seen, sable and russet and amber, the more normal lacklustre darkness of it replaced by vibrancy.
Everything looked better. The shade of her skin, the colour of her eyes, the soft