“I wasn’t flustered. I was terrified that he would see.” Her finger tapped the right side of her face. “I should have been kinder, but we insulted each other. He called me a harpy and said if he’d known it was me, he would not have bothered with a rescue.”
Melinda’s eyes widened. “And what did you say?”
“I called him a prancing dandy and said that if I’d have known he was my rescuer, I would have gladly broken my neck.”
“Howinteresting.” Melinda put a bit more honey in her tea. “Such sparks.”
“Sparks?” Beatrice’s mouth opened, aghast at the very suggestion. “Are you mad? There arenosparks, just loads of mutual dislike.”
Not entirely true. She had always found Blythe to be—splendid. Like a prince in a fairy tale.
“I disagree,” Melinda said.
“Blythe had the audacity to follow me home after our reacquaintance, and I had Mr. Lovington escort him back to the road at the end of a pistol,” Beatrice said.
“Dramatic. Definitely sparks.” Melinda shot Beatrice a knowing look as she chewed on yet another biscuit. “Good lord, I’m going to eat this entire tin.”
“Don’t besmug. It doesn’t suit a vicar’s wife. Stop this instant. At any rate, I don’t know why Blythe is in Chiddon. This isn’t the sort of place a man like himshouldbe.” Beatrice worried her bottom lip with her teeth. “Granted, he might be visiting an acquaintance, but Chiddon is surprisingly devoid of titles or families of any renown.”
“Farthing sniffs out a nobleman faster than a hound scenting a defenseless rabbit. Perhaps Blythe has a lover nearby?” She tapped her chin. “A young lady from Overton? He followed you home which tells me Blythe had concerns for your welfare despite his dislike. Speaks well of his character though mutual dislike in no way precludes the spark—”
“Stop it, Melinda. I mean it. There was absolutely,positivelyno sparking. We don’t care at all for each other. Blythe struts about, constantly demanding everyone’s affection. Off-putting to say the least.” Beatrice turned toward the line of trees to her right, a rambling stone fence the only obstruction to the beauty of the forest. The air was still and quiet with only the sound of insects buzzing about. All was peaceful in a way London had never been.
“You cannot remain hidden forever, Your Grace. Not from Blythe or anyone else. I don’t mind, of course, as long as you keep bringing biscuits.”
“Blythe would find my accident justified. A just recompense for past behavior. Pity would follow along with the snide remarks of nearly everyone in London. And I include my parents in that number. I know you think it absurd that I insist on remaining in Chiddon, but you’ve no idea how vicious society can be. They will tear me to shreds with a great amount of glee.”
Beatrice’s stomach pitched just thinking of what she could expect if she set foot in London once more. “I’m not brave enough, nor do I have good reason to return.”
“Beatrice.” Melinda’s tone was gentle as she reached for Beatrice’s hand. “You would not be alone, I promise. I would not abandon you to them.”
She squeezed Melinda’s fingers, smiling that her friend had slipped and called her by name. “I don’t deserve such a dear friend.”
Melinda gave Beatrice’s hand one last pat and returned to her tea. “Probably not, but you have me all the same.”
7
Feminine laughter floated on the air, carried on the breeze riffling Ellis’s hair as he approached the vicarage. The residence stood before him, ancient and magnificent, the recently replaced stones a sign of the repairs Beatrice had made.
Ellis dismounted and wandered over to inspect the stonework. He knew a thing or two about masonry and fitting stone together. Beatrice’s tradesmen had done decent work. A short distance away, a neatly tended graveyard stood, stark white markers bearing the names of generations of Chiddon villagers. Just on the other side, there was a small church.
Both the vicarage and the church boasted a new roof. Not a shingle out of place.
Ellis knew a bit about roof repair as well.
The low hum of conversation came again, along with more giggles. Pausing at the front door of the vicarage, Ellis thought to knock but decided to investigate the source of such amusement first. Stepping over a large tabby sunning himself on the stone, Ellis made his way around the sturdy residence. A small kitchen garden came into view. Beans and snap peas. Cabbages. Careful not to step on what looked like beets, Ellis peered around a large blackberry bush.
Two women sat on opposite sides of a small table covered with a scrap of lace. A pot of tea graced the table along with an enormous tin of what appeared to be biscuits.
The woman facing Ellis was unfamiliar. She must be the vicar’s wife, Mrs. Farthing. The soft luster of her walnut hair dulled in comparison to that of her companion. A thick mass of sparkling gold, neatly tied with a ribbon, cascaded over her right shoulder.
Music lit the air at something the vicar’s wife imparted to Beatrice.
Not the cackle of a harpy, or the false, patronizing sound Ellis had heard her make while lording over everyone else, but genuine happiness. It did strange things to his insides.
The first time he’d glimpsed Beatrice had been across a crowded ballroom, hair glittering under the chandeliers. Glowing like the beacon of a lighthouse. She’d shone so brightly that Ellis had seen no onebutBeatrice. It had been impossible. Though he’d already suspected her identity from the color of her hair, Lady Foxwood’s presence beside her had confirmed it for him.
Lady Foxwood, greedy, ambitious, and perfectly coiffed with jewels dripping from her ears. A fan had covered her mouth while she’d whispered to Beatrice before tapping her roughly on the wrist.
